33b 


HYLETHEN 


ISAAC 
FLAGG 


FROM -THE -LIBRARY- OF' 
A.   W.    Ryder 


HYLETHEN  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


Hylethen 

and 

Other  Poems 

By 

Isaac  Flagg 


BOSTON 

The  Stratford  Company 
1919 


Copyright    1919 

The    STRATFORD    CO.,    Publishers 
Boston,  Mass. 


V  Px^tr\«^    >VWe      *  .WV\oy^^-  w      *\ 

\ 


The  Alpine  Press.  Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S. 


Contents 

PAGE 

HYLETHEN,  A  LYEICAL  MISSIVE,  1896  .       1 

AFTEB  EGYPT,  1902        .         .         .  .37 

THE  STAE-GAZEE,  1906  .         .         .  .47 

THE  ISLE  OF  CIECE,  1907         .         .  .61 

ULYSSES'  CONVOY 77 

(After  Homer's  Odyssey,  Book  Thirteen, 
at  the  beginning,  1917) 

AGAMEMNON'S  EUTH     .         .         .         .89 

(Opening  scene  of  Euripides'  Iphigenia 
at  Aulis,  1898) 

TEMPLE  SONG         .         .         .         .         .95 
(From  the  Ion  of  Euripides,  1888) 

WINGS  TEIUMPHANT       ....  103 

(Programme  for  Scenes  from  the  Birds 
of  Aristophanes,  presented  in  Greek  by 
students  of  the  University  of  California 
at  the  dedication  of  the  Greek  Theatre, 
Berkeley,  1903) 

AVE    PlSCATOE  .....    Ill 

(Reception  to  Dr.  Henry  Van  Dyke  by 
the  Faculty  Club,  Berkeley,  1905) 


M29053 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PEOLOGUE  AND  EPILOGUE        .        .         .  116 

(Written  for  Congreve's  comedy  Love  for 
Love,  presented  by  students  of  the  Uni 
versity  of  California,  1896) 

CHOKAL  SONG         .         .  .         .  119 

(First  song  and  dance  in  Hesperides,  1916) 

SCYEOS  .        .        .        *        .        •        •  121 

(First  song  of  the  chorus  in  Achilles  in 
Scyros,  1917) 

NEPHTE'S  SONG      .        .        .        7"        .  122 
(From   the    Third   Act   of    The   Sons   of 
Jacob,  1912) 

HYMN     .         .        .        .         .         .         .123 

(Closing  hymn  in   The  Sons  of  Jacob] 

THE  ATHENIAN'S  VISION      „        .        .  127 
(Prologue  to  Greek  Sacrificial  Procession 
at  the  opening  exercises  of  the  California 
State   Farmer's   Institute  in   the   Greek 
Theatre,  1904) 

GEEETING        .        ...        .        .  135 

(Programme  for  the  Eumenides  of  Aeschy 
lus,  presented  in  Greek  by  students  of  the 
University  of  California  in  the  Greek 
Theatre,  1907) 

SYMPOSIUM  METBICUM,  1878        .        .  139 


VI 


Hylethen 


A  LYRICAL  MISSIVE 


PROLOGUE 

PAEAN 

STEPHANE 

STEMMA 

EPILOGUE 


SCHEME 


PAGES 

1-4 

5-9 

10-23 

24-31 

32,33 


To 
H.  H.  C. 

From  the  Forest,  when  we  speak, 
Sounds  Hylethen  in  the  Greek; 

But  the  promptings  fine, 
That  upon  the  soul    (we  know) 
From  the  forest   subtly  flow, 

No  ancient  might  divine. 


Hylethen 

A  LL  too  swiftly  to  its  end 
1\    That  soft  summer  eve,  sweet  friend, 

Sank  behind  us.    We, 
Half  round  in  our  saddles  turn'd, 
Where  its  dying  splendors  burn'd, 

Gazed  regretfully; 

Half,  adown  the  hedge-crown 'd  hill, 
Wistful,  would  press  forward  still — 

But  a  warning  star 
Glimmer 'd  in  the  deepening  blue; 
Quench 'd  the  changeful  flush,  that  threw, 

Feebly  mirror 'd,  far 
Backward  its  faint  borrow'd  glow. 
Then  we,  silently  and  slow, 

Took  our  backward  way. 
Toward  night-woven  leaf  and  limb, 
Broider'd  on  the  pale  gold  rim 

Of  the  vanish 'd  day, 
Through  moist  fragrant  air,  we  rode. 
On  the  bridle-hand,  now,  flow'd 

The  dim-spreading  stream; 
Stole  now,  gently  voiceful,  o'er 
Our  grave  silence.    But,  before, 

When,  in  a  sunny  dream 


,s      ;..-         ;*  HYLETHEN 

Of  young  pleasure,  we  sprang  forth, 
Spurning  the  firm  rain-wash 'd  earth 

Under  iron-shod  feet; 
Then,  our  mutual  voices  drown  M 
That  low  lakeward-murmuring  sound. 

Then,  the  briar-rose  sweet 
Beckon 'd,  with  her  winsome  smile, 
(Hid  her  treacherous  thorn  the  while) ; 

And  the  green  roadway, 
Each  new  darkling  turn  it  took, 
Show'd  of  fairy-land  a  nook 

Wreathed  in  forest  spray — 
Tempting,  part  sun-pierced,  part  gloom. 
Each  emerging  height  we  clomb, 

Whence  anew  the  fair 
Afternoon  horizon  crept 
(From  the  distance  where  it  slept) 

O'er  the  vision,  there, 
On  its  drowsy  quivering  line, 
Cloud-indented,  seem'd  to  shine 

Spire  and  citadel 
Of  some  blissful  region,  blent 
In  hues  of  eld  and  orient. — 


[2] 


HYLETHEN 

Thus,  till  night  dews  fell 
And  the  star  its  warning  sped, 
We,  dear  friend,  unwearied 

In  sweet  colloquy; 
As  the  day,  serene;  its  mood 
Strong,  our  fancy  to  delude; 

Would  the  thought  put  by 
Of  the  parting  that  impended, 
Of  all,  that  with  that  last  eve  ended 


[3] 


HYLETHEN 

Not  by  the  sunlit  hour 
Be  my  farewell  spoken! 

Not,  when  on  brake  and  bower 
Day  beams  unbroken! 

Not  with  the  throstle's  glee; 

Not,  while  the  brown  wild-bee 
In  honey 'd  ecstasy 

Probes  the  unfolded  flower! 

But,  when  the  lull'd  redbreast 

No  more  his  serenading 
Pipes  to  the  crimson  west, 

Fast  in  sable  fading; 
After  the  pale  primrose, 
Her  chalice  fain  to  close, 
Slumbers  in  chaste  repose; 

And  the  night  wind,  sighing 
Like  a  wandering  spirit  lone, 
In  plaintive  undertone 

To  leafy  tongues  replying 
Some  troubled  tale  would  tell, 
Then  would  I  say  farewell — 

All  its  implying, 
With  weird  re-whisper 'd  spell: 
Farewell — Farewell. 


[4] 


HYLETHEN 


BLEST    be    the    years! — that,    reaper-like, 
sure-bladed, 
Do  store  and  make,  the  while  they  seem  to 

mar; 

Veil'd   messengers,    whose    tones,    all    sorrow- 
shaded, 
Yet,  to  console,  divinely  potent  are. 

Low-shorn  the  field,  wilted  the  tassel'd  flower, 
Spill'd  the  once  brimming  crystal  vase  may 

lie: 
But    life    and    loss,    time-wedded,    hold    their 

dower 
Of  balm  that  heals,  of  beams  that  sanctify. 

Soonest  for  him,  who,  of  all  breath  and  being, 
Of  all-in-all,  but  feels  himself  a  part; 

And,  from  frail  transient  ties  his  pulses  freeing, 
Lies  closest  to  the  universal  heart. 

His,  to  inform,  to  inspire,  a  view  outvying 
The  warm  life-vision  of  the  proud  Hellene: 

Not,  with   pure-human  eye,   self-deifying, 
Nature    through    man,    but     man     through 
nature  seen. 

[5] 


HYLETHEN 

Cull  we,  from  groves  sublime,  a  rarer  guerdon 
Than  on  his  brow  the  palm-crown 'd  ancient 
wore; 

Chanting,  with  fuller  heart,  a  deeper  burden- 
To  find  in  man  not  less,  in  nature  more. 

As  of  a  wider  wisdom  chasten 'd,  humbly, 
Yet  with  more  ample  and  profounder  voice, 

To  swell  no  hamlet-hymn 'd  io  triumphe, 
But,  to  the  nations,  XCUQETE,  REJOICE! 

Rejoice  to  live,  each  spirit-sharing  creature; 

Make  green  the  waste  of  intellect  jejune; 
Reflect  Earth's  every  life-illumined  feature; 

To  her  pure  symphony  your  chords  attune. 

So,   with  well-measuring  hand,   some   compen 
sation 

For  that  she  takes  shall  Nature  give  again : 
From  the  drain 'd  chalice  conjure  reparation, 
As  looms   the   sun-limn 'd  Iris   through   the 
rain. 

Who  knows,  when  finding  earliest  forbidden 
That  which   is  sorest  craved,   what  recom 
pense 
May   for    the    sear'd   white-calcined   flesh   be 

hidden 
In  the   fell  furnace   of   experience? 

[6] 


HYLETHEN 

Answer    the    wind-swept    seed,    by    millions 

wasted, 

To  save  one  tender  germ-uplifting  leaf; 
The  brief -lived  fly ;  the  myriad  fruits  untasted ; 
The   stalk   flung   to   the   fire,   the    garner  'd 
sheaf. 


There  is  no  loss.    The  gentle  child,  untimely 
Snatch 'd  from  sweet  mirth,   all  spotless,  to 

the  tomb, 

Itself  wept  not ;  the  claims  it  touch  'd  sublimely 
Of  those  that  stay  or  follow.    So,  from  that 
gloom, 

For  us,  through  storms  of  selfish  thought  com 
bated, 

Shines  a  redeeming  light,  unseen  before: 
Tt,  to  the  sun-ascending  pile  hath  added 
Of   Peace,    the   many-mansion  'd,    one    stone 
more. 


On  the  slow  way,  where  many  a  shadow  hovers, 
Darkening,  deluding,  deem  him  happy  thrice 

To  whom,  full  soon,  some  heaven-sent  hand  dis 
covers 
The  late-learn'd  benison  of  sacrifice. 


[7] 


HYLETHEN 

The  woman  to  the  man.    Endued  more  gently; 

Younger  in  years,  yet  surer  of  their  worth ; 
Whose  firm  maieutic  touch  beneficently 

Guides  the  clogg'd  spirit  to  its  fairer  birth. 


Thus,    the    life-realm    through,    opposites  in- 
wreathing, 
Then  first  springs  an  ensphered  and  perfect 

whole, 
When    the    sublime    succumbs,    intense     and 

seething, 
To  the  calm  beautiful,  its  antipole. 


Ay,  beautiful  and  faithful!   Not  with  reasons, 
Weigh 'd    in   cold   thought:   but   with   high 

hopes,  that  lead 
By    beacon    flames,    straight-tending,    as    the 

seasons, 
One  to  another,  immutable,  succeed. 


So,  summer-wing 'd,  to  me,  as,  love-led,  follow 
(Truest  of  friends),   sure-pinion 'd,  to  their 

homes 

Dove  mothers,  or  the  zephyr-mated  swallow 
Speeds  to  his  clime,  your  fond  true  greeting 
comes. 

[8] 


HYLETHEN 

A  tress  of  fern,  mid  mindful  words  enfolded; 

Pendants  of  unf  orgotten  columbine : 
Frail  earthly  types,  by  loving  fingers  moulded 

To  emblems  of  a  constancy  divine. 

Now,   therefore,    in   due   turn,   while   yet   un 
broken 
Hangs  the  link'd  heart-chain  these  mute  years 

along, 

Let   this    imprison 'd   voice    their   wealth   be 
token — 
My  late  thank-offering  of  sincerest  song, 

That,  on  a  dream-sown,  motley  life-path  weav 
ing, 

I  send  you,  like  some  dark-leaved  coronal, 
Starr 'd  with  pale  blossoms.    Even  so  believing, 

Read  mingled  requiem  and  madrigal. 


[9] 


HYLETHEN 


AY,  think  anon 

Of  wreathed-laid  tables  at  a  bridal  feast, 
Under  soft-glowing  lamps:  with  smilax  wind 
ing 

Its  waxen  tracery  hither  and  thither,  between 
Wine-cup  and  silver  flagon ;  fruits  heap  'd  high 
In  mellow  pyramids;  and  many  a  vase 
Clasping  white  lilies,  or,  with  fresh-clipt  stem, 
Roses,  deep-hued,  that  cannot  choose  but  pour 
Their  rich  defloured  fragrance  on  the  warm 
Silk-shaded   air.     Forth  are  the  banqueters, 
Refresh 'd,  in  gay  dance-measures  to  renew 
The  night-sped  revelry.      But    a    fair    young 

guest, 

Lingering  by  chance  there  thoughtfully  alone, 
Would  from  the  relinquish 'd  board  lift  a  green 

spray 
And  pin   to   her   bosom — when,   through    the 

corridors, 
Fine  strains  of  dulcet  strings  came  stealing, 

and  touch 'd 

A   vibrant   chord   in   her   pure  heart.     Spell 
bound 
By    that    sweet   marriage-music,    thrill'd    she 

stood, 

With  parted  lips,  one  hand  uplifted;  and  her 
eyes 

[10] 


HYLETHEN 

Seem'd  not  to  see  what  met  them,  but  through 

all, 
In  dreamy  thought,  to  gaze  toward  some  far 

land, 

Un visited,  unknown. — Her  then  the  poet 
Marked,  himself,  too,  midway  tarrying,  where 
By  the  half-open  door  her  white  robe  shone; 
And,  in  his  fancy,  above  the  mirthful  crowd 
Soaring  apart,  with  swift  words  did  essay 
To  paint  her  reverie. 


Ill 


HYLETHEN 

I  look'd  on  a  brimming  fountain, 
With  its  waters  upwelling  for   aye : 

They  were  black  in  the  shadow  of  even; 
They  were  bright  in  the  lustre  of  day. 

Not  a  flower  by  its  margent  mirror 'd, 

But  with  fairest  petal  smiled ; 
Not  a  bird    'neath  the  verdure,  but  warbled 

His  fondest  carol  wild. 

Each  wind  to  his  silent  hollow 

Had  sped,  with  a  murmur  low ; 
While  the  wrinkled  hill-tops  glimmer 'd 

In  the  sleepy  noonday  glow. 

A  maiden  knelt,  with  a  ewer, 

From  the  limpid  source  to  fill, 
And  its  depths  they  were  strong  to  woo  her, 

That  she  gazed  with  a  transport  still. 

Prom  the  thirsty  forest-mazes 

A  chase-worn  huntsman  came; 
But  drank  not — for  the  spell  beguiled  him, 

Of  a  rapture  he  could  not  name. 

And  they  seem'd  to  wait  and  to  wonder 
If  their  vision   should   vanish   away, 

As  I  look'd  on  the  brimming  fountain, 
With  its  waters  upwelling  for  aye. 

[12] 


HYLETHEN 

In  such  words  did  the  poet 
Portray  the  vision  of  the  fair  young  guest — 
Her  vision  and  his  own.    For,  from  that  hour, 
Round  her  bright  image  his  warm  fancy  moved, 
As  moves  Orion  round  the  Cynosure. 
Not  of  the  earth  she  seem'd:  so  radiant 
Was  her  clear  forehead;  such  ethereal  glory 
Streamed  from  the  sunny  halo  of  her  hair. 
Yet  in  her  nature  fain  would  he  discern 
Much,  to  his  own  congenial.     Not,  indeed, 
The  questioning  intellect ;  but  a  kindred  soul, 
Thrilling  with  pure  emotions.    Framed  for  love ; 
Love  tender,  deep,  and  inexhaustible 
As  a  perennial  rivulet,  that  hides 
Its  source  from  the  long  sultry  plains  it  waters, 
In  the  cool  shadow  of  eternal  hills. 
This    the    years    show'd    him.     Now,  he  but 

divined 

Its  subtile  sympathies;   and,  by  their  breath 
Inspired,  in  fervent  choriambs  gave  voice 
To  his  exalted  mood. 


[13] 


HYLETHEN 

Child  of  the  skies, 
Maid, — as  thou  art; 

Star  of  mine  eyes, 
Heaven  of  my  heart : 

Draw  thou  but  near, 

All,  all  is  light ! 
But  disappear, — 

Lo,  it  is  night! 

Day  binds  a  gem 
Over  Night's  brow 

(My  diadem, 
Beauty,  art  thou) ; 

And,  when  he  hides 
Love's  sign  away, 

Twilight  abides, 
Saved  of  its  ray. 

So  come  thy  smile 
Oft,  as  my  dawn: 

Light  me  the  while 

Thoughts  of  thee  gone. 

Star  of  mine  eyes, 
Heaven  of  my  heart : 

Fair  as  the  skies, 
Maiden,  thou  art. 

[14] 


HYLETHEN 

Celestial  forms 

Did  to  their  mortal  worshipers,  of  old, 
Descend.     As  when,  to  Latmos'  stilly  slopes, 
The  pale  moon-goddess,  from  her  heavenly  home, 
In  waves  of  rippling  phosphor  glided  down 
And  kiss'd  Endymion's  slumber-shaded  cheek. 
With  us  abide,  not  differently   (though  them 
selves 
Unknowing,    and   unknown,     the   while     they 

stay), 

Spirits  of  light,  sometime,  along  this  wayfare, 
That  in  abysmal  mystery  began, 
And  tends  we  know  not  whither.    But,  anon, 
Their  gracious  mission  once  fulfill  'd,  they  must 
Return,  to  prove  that  they  were  lent,  not  given. 
Thus  was  the  poet  taught  (what  he,  ofttimes, 
As  of  mere  human  texture,  would  forget), 
When  helpless  on  the  farther  verge  he  stood. — 
Not  till  long  after  could  he  pen  the  scene, 
That  they  might  read  and  profit  by  its  lore 
Who  need  the  lesson. 


[15] 


HYLETHEN 

Watch  and  wait,  with  bated  breath ; 
'T  is  the  border-land  of  death. 

See,  upon  her  upturn 'd  eyes 

A  strange  outward  dimness  lies; 

For,  within  they  seek  a  light 
Hidden  from  our  grosser  sight. 

Our  hush'd  voices  she  hears  not: 
Rapt  is  all  her  spirit-thought, 

Barkening,  how  it  may  respond 
To  the  summons  from  beyond. 

0 !  if  in  other  spheres  there  be 
A  supernal  harmony, 

Breathed  to  hovering  souls,  that  list 
Under  skies  of  amethyst, 

She  but  aspires  now  to  turn 
The  terrestrial  sojourn 

Into  something  of  the  same 

As  with  her  life  earthward  came. — 

Yes,  the  trembling  breath  has  past: 
That  faint-drawn  sigh  was  the  last. — 

[16] 


HYLETHEN 

Such  release  kind  Nature  brings 
When  the  sun-born  insect  springs 

To  new,  bright-wing  'd  fields  of  bliss, 
Fluttering  from  the  chrysalis. 

But,  as  in  the  wreathed  sea-shell 
A  far  echo  seems  to  dwell, 

Of  some  solemn  wave-lapt  shore, 
Caught  and  held  for  evermore, 

So  I  know  that  I  shall  hear 
That  sigh,  in  my  mindful  ear, 

Till  I,  too,  am  call'd  to  stand 
On  the  mystic  border-land. 


[17] 


HYLETHEN 

First  in  after  years, 
When    the    long    arrow-flight    of    time    had 

spann'd 

The  middle  distance,  found  he  a  new  strength, 
The  warning  of  those  moments  to  record. 
For  then,  when  freshly  that  slight  form  was 

laid, 

To  share  the  slumbers  of  the  silent  dead, 
Under  chill  snow  not  whiter  than  her  face, 
Rose,  mingled  with  the  vacant  agony 
And  pang  of  absence,  a  strange  fear,  lest  he 
Had  not  done  well  his  part ;  not  at  each  time 
Touch 'd    the    right    chord.      No    thoughts,    no 

phantasies 

Came  at  behest:  but  uninvoked,  unbidden, 
Sang  the  death-minstrel,  with  infernal  choir, 
Shrilling,  as  wolves  howl  by  the  wintry  edge 
Of  Ural  wildernesses. —  'T  were  enough 
To   bide,   firm-lipp'd,   till   the   fell   pack,   out- 
wearied, 

Slink  into  silence. — Comes  the  gray  dawn  first, 
Haunted  by  lingering  voices  of  the  night; 
Then,  through  its  vapors,  one  warm  beam,  that 

wakes 
Old  memories  and  new  purpose. 


[18] 


HYLETHEN 

Methought  I  stood  by  a  mountain  grand, 
And  the  sea  crept  up  to  its  flinty  strand. 

[  heard  no  sound  in  that  region  lone 

But  the  waves  and  their  weary  monotone. 

The  mountain  moved,  as  it  were  in  sleep, 
And  stirr  'd  the  waters  of  all  the  deep  ; 

And  a  surge  swang  mightily  to  and  fro, 
And  now  rose  louder,  and  now  sank  low. 

Then  floated  the  ringing  tones  between 
Of  a  lyre,  swept  by  a  hand  unseen. 

Sweet  and  solemn  they  seem'd  to  glide 
Prom  caverns  dark  in  the  mountain-side, 

Till  the  billows  ceased  to  beat  at  the  shore, 
And  wearily  murmur 'd  the  waves,  as  before. 

But  long  in  my  ear  an  echo  rang 
Of  the  throe,   and  the   surge,   and  the   lyre's 
clang. 


[19] 


HYLETHEN 

Immortal  poesy! 
The  music  of  life's  morning — when  the  child 

seer 
Stands  by  the  shore,  clear-eyed;  and,  gazing 

toward 

The  sun-fed  sources  of  his  being,  hearkens 
To  faint  Aeolian  melodies,  that  float 
Over  green  waters  from  the  gates  of  pearl. 
All-searching  language  of  the  soul;  to  all 
Tongues  common;  from  all  bosoms  breathed, 

that  nigh 

To  the  wellsprings  of  mystery  have  lain, 
Nilus,  Dodona,  or  Gethsemane. 
Utter 'd,  not  to  the  sense-bound  hearing,  but, 
Through  avenues  of  the  spirit,  to  that  ear 
Which,  like  the  hermit's  door,  welcomes,  un- 

barr'd, 

Herald  or  foot-worn  pilgrim  or  scarr'd  slave. 
What  else  but  the  weird  star-link 'd  talisman 
Of  charity  and  beauty,  heaven-born  song, 
Threading  this  clogg'd  and  travail-crusted  so 
journ 

Prom  youth  to  age,  as  veins  of  purest  gold 
Thread  the  black  earth,  enlocks  the  charmed  ring 
Of  many-hued  experience — till  the  man, 
[n  all  simplicity  and  meekness,  stands 
Where  stood  the  child:  over  still  waters  hear 
ing 
The  zephyr-wafted  curfew-tones  of  peace; 

[20] 


HYLETHBN 

Seeing,  direct,  near,  and  immediate, 
That  truth  which  labor 'd  learning  only  hides. 
There,  now  once  more,  the  slumbrous  images 
Of  past  and  future,  in  one  mirror  merged, 
On  fancy's  argent  stream  roll  by, 
Delighting,  not  deluding. 


[21] 


HYLETHEN 

Out  in  the  wild,  witching  forest 

Lone  and  uncumber'd  to  lie, 
Stretch 'd  where  the  pines  that  are  tallest 

Stem  the  blue  tide  of  the  sky. 

Fragrances  rare,  terebinthine, 

Float  o'er  the  cone-sprinkled  sward, 

Far  through  the  vague  labyrinthine 
Mazes  of  memory  pour'd. 

Only  the  loon's  ghostly  laughter 

Breaks  from  the  forest-bound  mere : 

Chimes  of  some  mystic  hereafter, 
Borne  on  the  spell-haunted  ear. 

Wraiths  of  yon  fathomless  azure, 
Cloud-rack  to  cloud-castle  rear'd, 

Bid  these  fond  fancies  soar,  as  your 
Shapes  evanescent  and  weird. 

There,  where  the  pine-tops  are  sailing, 
Black-fringed,  ethereal;  hung 

Mid  fleecy  filaments,  veiling 
Elfin  forms,  phantasy-sprung — 

There,  what  bright  visage,  benignly 
Sad,  on  my  rapt  vision  beams? 

Soul  to  soul,  upborne  divinely 
Into  the  cloud-world  of  dreams ! 

[22] 


HYLETHEN 

What  though  with  day-dream  be  blended 
Bliss  quench 'd  in  night  long  ago, 

If,  till  the  reverie  's  ended, 
Blithely  the  dream-measures  flow ! 

Lone,  without  comrade  to  cumber, 

In  the  wild  forest  to  lie, 
Where  tall  pines,  tempting  to  slumber, 

Stem  the  blue  tide  of  the  sky. 


[23] 


HYLETHEN 


TAKE,  then,  dear  friend,  your  crown — 
word-woven:  not 
Like  Ariadna's,  in  the  firmament 
Of  spacious  heaven  with  starry  gems  en- 
wrought  ; 

Once  to  her  brow  from  fervid  Orient 
Divinely  press 'd:  but  in  plain  token  sent 
Of  kind  remembrance,   from   the   fruited 

glades 

Hemming  a  new,  Hesperian  continent, 
Rock-ridged;    whose    morn    the    snow-clad 

shoulder  shades, 

Whose   eve   o'er   azure   seas  in   golden  pallor 
fades. 


[24] 


HYLETHBN 

Here,  from  hill  caverns  sweeping  sands  of 

gold, 
Wide    flashing     streams     their    westward 

courses  wind, 

Profuser  than  to  Lydian  kings  of  old 
The  famed  Pactolus  bore :  with  inargent 

lined 
By  fields  of  bearded  grain,  whose  reapers 

bind 
World-sheaves  of  plenty;  or  flowing,  now 

between 
Fruit  lands  of  shell    or    berry    or    citrus 

kind, 
Or  the  gray  olive;    now    mid    vine-slopes 

seen, 
Hiding  pink  clusters  bathed  in  leafy  rills  of 

green. 


[25] 


HYLETHEN 

Full  long  the  unfailing  South  her  genial 

rains 

Pours  over  dale  and  upland,  to  renew, 
For   pastured   flocks   no   brumal    fold   re 
strains, 
Fresh     sustenance     the     verdant     winter 

through ; 

And,  for  delighted  eyes,  the  varied  hue 
Of    verdure-mingled    bloom — while    solo- 

mon-seal, 

Orange  of  poppy,  and  faint  myrtle -blue: 
Which  fanning,  through  light  and  shade, 

with  sprite-like  zeal, 

Their  soft  invisible  way  the  searching  sea-winds 
steal. 


[26] 


HYLETHEN 

Sprite-like    below:    but,    on   each    ridgy 

height, 

The  foam-born  children  of  the  giant  West, 
Rushing  resistless  in  untrammel'd  might 
Of  whistling  glee!  Down  to  her  shelter 'd 

nest 

Flees  the  high-soaring  hawk.     Their  toil 
some  quest 

Eager-eyed  hunter  and  rude  muleteer 
Bend   breathless   down:   behind   the   airy 

crest 
The  steep,  still  trail  pursuing,  oak-edged — 

near 

Rattle  of  basking  snake  and  plunge  of  startled 
deer. 


[27] 


HYLETHEN 

Mutters    the    black    ravine    with    echoes 

hoarse 
And   muffled,   where   dense-fallen   boulders 

meet 
The  hurrying  stream,  that,  from  its  snowy 

source, 
Descends  persistent.     Here,   with  shuffling 

feet, 
From  ledge  to  ledge,  moves  Bruin,  his  grim 

retreat 

Wary  to  cover.    Here,  the  mountain  quail 
Chants  through  the  gloom.     But  one  lone 

sunbeam  sweet 
Glints   on   the   darting   salmon's   rainbow 

scale, 
Where  strives  the  crystal  tide  toward  welkin 

and  toward  vale. 


[28J 


HYLETHEN 

Strives  nobly!    What  scenes  for  faltering 

pen  to  trace, 

In  that  Titanic  valley,  whose  sheer  sides 
Drop  from  mid-heaven   to    the    shadowy 

base 
Of  Earth,  low-rifted !     There  the  Ice-king 

bides 
His  thousand  years  of  slumbering  strength, 

and  hides 
Under  blue  sheen  the  sure  footfalls,  that 

merge 
In  Time's  unswerving  pathway;  whilst  his 

guides, 

Colossal  peaks,  in  frowning  silence,  urge 
The    blind    obedient    waters,    over  the   dizzy 

verge, 


[29] 


HYLETHEN 

To  their  mad  leap ! — Yet  is  there  might  to 

save 

That  vapory  ruin,  with  all-gathering  hand, 
In  fresh,  redoubled  potency  to  lave 
The  temples  of  a  wonder-teeming  land. 
Set  on  its  brow,  in  serrate  order  grand, 
Linking  the  present  to  a  buried  past 
Of  growths  primeval,  green  and  ageless, 

stand 
Redwood   and   huge   sequoia.     They,   the 

last 
Of  their  majestic  kind :  and,  with  them,  failing 

fast, 


[30] 


HYLETHEN 

Too  many  a  source  of  balm.    No  longer  toll 

For  holy    men    (who    sought    no    golden 
fleece, 

But  to  sow  wide  their  mission  of  the  soul) 

Anthem  and  angelus — where,  in  calm  re 
lease 

From  fever'd  life,  they  till'd  its  rich  sur 
cease. 

Perchance,     like    theirs,    might    our   free 
fancy  stray 

O'er    the    far-arching    ocean,    named    of 
Peace, 

Past  yon  white  sea-bird  rock'd  in  briny 

spray, 

On  the  swift  wing  of  thought,  to  Nippon  and 
Cathay. 


[31] 


HYLETHEN 


FANCY  free !— So  deem  the  mind, 
That  no  chains  of  memory  bind 

To  some  foreland  fair 
Of  the  dim  receding  shore ; 
That  no  anchor  flings  before, 

Caught  with  gossamer 
To   some  hope,   deep-glimmering   through 
Each  wave-wrinkled  roadstead  new. 

Who  no  melody 
Of  enchanted  music  hears, 
Echoed  down  the  steadying  years; 

Nor,  of  quick-stirr 'd  heart, 
Fresh  enravishment  can  feel, 
Let  him  rove,  with  veering  keel : 

Let  him  swing  apart; 
Drifting  on  a  starless  sea, 
Calm-beholden,  fancy  free. 

And  who! — at  the  cost 
Of  a  cold  and  blunted  sense; 
In  a  vague  indifference 

To  that  sadness  lost 
Which,  by  unrelenting  laws, 
Every  thing  of  beauty  draws 

In  its  silken  train, — 
Who  forsooth,  would  ask  reprieve ! — 

[32] 


HYLETHEN 

Or  the  mesh  of  fate  unweave- 
Not  to  stand  again 
Near  the  torrent-laved  lake-side, 
Watch  the  foam-fleck 'd  water  glide, 

Hear  the  low  refrain 
Murmur 'd  by  the  rumbling  fall. 
Feign  not  I  now  to  recall, 

Through  a  childish  rhyme, 
What,  when  little  children,  we 
(Little  knowing)  thought  to  see 

In  very  deed:  a  clime, 
Where  nor  face  nor  flower  should  fade, 
Nor  fount  that  fed  the  everglade 

(Save  that  of  tears)  run  dry; 
Nor  loved  voices  fail,  between 
Pale  dawn  and  the  opaline 

Of  the  sunset  sky. — 
So,  lest  sombre  strains  too  long 
Haunt  the  evening  of  my  song 

With  remember 'd  spell, 
Sinking  softly  to  its  end : 
Therefore,  yet  again,  sweet  friend, 

Once  again,  farewell. 


[33] 


After  Egypt 


Nile  pater,   quanam  possim   te   dicere   causa 
Aut  quibus  in  terris  occuluisse  caput? 


After  Egypt 

WHO,  from  Piraeus  sailing,  sees 
The  circlet  of  the  Cyclades 
Glide  fast  backward,  till  they  shine 
No  more,  for  him  the  southward  line, 
Drawn  where  sky  and  water  meet 
Between  Carpathos  and  Crete, 
Points  to  Egypt.     On  a  day 
Of  a  bygone  century 
Thus  from  his  native  Attic  shore 
A  far-speeding  vessel  bore 
The  good  Aristo's  son — the  same 
Who,  through  the  ages,  by  the  name 
Of  Plato  should  remember 'd  be. 
Young,  then,  and  unrenown'd  was  he, 
Nor  himself  knowing ;  but  possest 
By  that  foreboding  and  unrest 
Of  mystic  aspiration  bred. 
Wealth  and  fair  ancestry  had  shed 
On  him  their  lustre;  nature  brought 
Delight  of  sense  and  soaring  thought, 
Blent  in  such  visions  as  inspire 
The  poet's  fervor  and  desire. 
Now,  with  a  full,  sore-troubled  heart, 
Fain  would  he  spurn  the  seething  mart, 

[37] 


AFTER  EGYPT 

The  civic  clamor,  the  revelry, 
Even  the  groves,  the  hills,  the  sky 
Of  haughty  Athens.    Who  were  they ! 
Those  flippant  arbiters  of  wit 
And  song  and  eloquence,  to  sit 
In  judgment  on  a  life  sublime, 
Which,  round  the  peristyle  of  time, 
Should  waken  echoes  more  profound 
Than  all  their  shallow  arts  could  sound. 
Nathless,  perforce  of  their  decrees, 
The  mortal  voice  of  Socrates 
Was  hush'd — though  in  the  charmed  ear 
Of  each  true  friend  and  follower 
Still  did  its  golden  accents  seem 
To  ring,  and,  like  a  haunting  dream, 
Before  each  mindful  eye  the  spell 
Of  the  sad  final  scene  to  dwell: 
The  cot-bed  in  the  prison,  the  chain, 
The  benign  master — and  the  bane 
Quaff 'd  from  the  deadly  chalice. — Now 
On  that  blithe  ship,  whose  eager  prow 
Churn 'd  the  blue  waters,  Plato  stood, 
Lost  in  the  vague  expectant  mood 
Of  one,  whom,  for  the  ends  of  fate, 
Fresh  scenes  and  trials  new  await. 

Peaceful  and  sweet  it  seem'd,  to  stand 
In  the  quaint  three-corner 'd  land, 
That  the  seven  streams  of  Nile  enfold ; 

[38] 


AFTER  EGYPT 

Where  the  Argive  maid,  of  old, 
lo,  poor  wanderer  from  the  West, 
Bent  her  life-weary  limbs  to  rest. 
Sweet  was  it,  when  a  cooling  shade 
The  hand  of  welcome  eve  had  laid 
Over  the  river's  bosom,  to  lie 
Watching  the  fretted  shore  glide  by; 
Or  some  pale  lotus-lily's  face 
Under  the  dim  starlight  to  trace, 
Whilst  softly  the  Nile  boatmen  plied 
Their  blades  athwart  the  placid  tide. — 
Soon  Memphis,  and  the  voiceful  throng, 
Swaying  its  temple  courts  along, 
Of  Apis-worshipers ;  and,  seen 
Afar,  the  pyramids,  whose  mien 
Divinely,  to  the  musing  Greek, 
Of  space  and  number  seem'd  to  speak, 
Problems  Pythagorean. — Again 
Away,  past  ibis-haunted  fen, 
On,  on,  still  on,  by  wind  and  oar, 
Stemming  the  soft,  rich  waves,  that  pour 
Forth  from  perennial  founts  unseen 
Sweet  freshness  o'er  the  margents  green 
'Twixt  Araby's  purple  mountains  and 
Brown  hills  that  bar  the  Libyan  sand: 
Up,  up  the  immemorial  stream. — 
Now,  on  its  shadowy  surface  beam 
Gay  colonnade  and  shimmering  wall, 
The  hundred-gated  capital, — 

[39] 


AFTER  EGYPT 

And  at  each  gate,  to  battle-rout, 
Two-hundred  chariots  sally  out, — 
Thebes,  ancient  seat  of  warrior  kings. 
Here,   where   colossal  Memnon  flings 
Weird  music  on  the  morning  air, 
Teeming  with  busy  life ;  but  there, 
Toward  sunset  and  the  nether  gloom, 
Dear  to  the  dwellers  of  the  tomb, 
By  their  frail  caskets  tenanted, 
Stretches  the  City  of  the  Dead, 
Sombre  and  silent — save  what  note 
Of  lamentation  deep  might  float, 
From  mourners'  voices  wafted.     There 
Glides  many  a  funeral  bark,  to  bear, 
Westward  and  earthward  voyaging. 
On  the  last  voyage,  the  bodies  of  them 
Whose  souls,  or  must  return  and  strive 
Through  more  of  mortal  penance,  or  live, 
In  Osiris  merged,  the  all- 
Blissful   existence,    all-in-all. 


Nigh  to  its  end  the  sojourn  drew, 
As  fast  the  wondering  moments  flew, 
Which,  by  tradition's  testament, 
Young  Plato  in  old  Egypt  spent. 
To-morrow  would  he  set  his  face 
Northward,  and  the  steps  retrace, 
That  from  known  scenes  had  led  him  far. 

[40] 


AFTER  EGYPT 

To-morrow,  with  the  morning  star, 

Gyrene  and  fair  Sicily 

The  traveler's  cynosure  should  be; 

Then  great  Hesperia,  and  anon 

The  harbors  of  his  Attic  home. — 

That  night,  when  sleep  his  lids  had  seal'd, 

Unto  the  spirit  was  reveal'd 

The  vision  of  a  dream.     Him  thought, 

By  throes  of  anxious  quest  distraught, 

To  wander  near  the  Nubian  tract, 

Above  the  second  cataract, 

Where  the  eternal  waters  cold 

Down  from  the  Bybline  mountains  roll'd; 

And  there,  while  thrill  'd  that  region  lone 

With  an  unearthly  monotone, 

Forth,  in  ethereal  hues,  did  gleam, 

As  through  a  halo  of  his  stream, 

The  countenance  of  Father  Nile. 

No  accident  of  frown  or  smile 

Ruffled  his  features'  calm.    Nor  youth, 

Nor  age  was  mirror  'd  there ;  nor  ruth, 

Nor  joy,  nor  sorrow,  as  of  a  sense 

Of  past  or  future,  lower 'd  thence. 

'T  was  as  the  Sphinx  re-voiced,  or  note 

Breathed    from     a    midnight     Memnon's 

throat, 
When,  through  the  gates  of  dreams,  this 

word, 
Parting  those  lips  sublime,  was  heard. 

[41] 


AFTER  EGYPT 

"  Ye  search  amain,  to  probe  and  win 
My  secret  and  my  origin. 

' '  Caught  in  the  mesh  of  time  and  space, 
Ye  pass  me,  and  see  not  my  face. 

* '  To  phantom  shapes  ye  cleave,  that  range 
Along  the  rifts  of  chance  and  change. 

"  Ye  feign,  the  signs  to  comprehend 
Of  a  beginning  and  an  end. 

11  Know,  that  each  drop  of  crystal  dew, 
Which,  to  its  mission  born  anew 

"  And  from  inept  admixture  freed, 
My  farthest  fountains  helps  to  feed, 

' '  The  same  once  mantled  in  the  grape, 
Or  swell'd  the  millet  or  the  rape, 

11  Or  clove  the  Delta,  and,  wave-tost, 
In  gray  infinitude  was  lost. 


[42] 


AFTER  EGYPT 

Son  of  unworthy  Athens,  lo, 

Thus,  darkly,  to  thy  thoughts  I  show 

What  mysteries  through  thee,  in  turn, 
Men  of  the  Western  world  shall  learn, 

When,  in  thy  magic  name,  they  pledge 
The  wise  soul's  heavenly  privilege, 

Turning  from  that  which  seems  to  be, 
The  fleeting  show,  the  vanity, 

To  penetrate,  clear-eyed,  beneath 
These  cerements  of  life  and  death, 

And  the  ideal  truth  compel 
From  its  gross  perishable  shell." 


[43] 


The  Star-Gazer 


Tu  ne  quaesieris  (scire  nefas)  quern  mihi,  quern 

tibi 
Finem  di  dederint. 


The  S tar-Gazer 

MARK  yon  pale  segment  of  the  sky 
Where  glows  Aldebaran, 
Dim  starry  myriads  marshall'd  nigh, 

His  Hyads  in  the  van. 
Their  solemn  arbiter  of  old, 
Still  from  his  beacon  fall 
The  fateful  ruddy  fires  that  hold 
A  thousand  worlds  in  thrall. 

Nathless,  no  star  nor  satellite, 

No  galaxy  of  suns, 
Strewing  vague  splendor  o'er  the  night, 

Where  its  weird  circle  runs, 
Avails  with  changeful  orb  to  move 

One  jot  or  tittle  fine 
Of  aught,  fair  youth,  that  doth  behoove 

My  destiny  or  thine. 

Thy  fortunes  in  their  signs  were  writ, 

Those  signs  are  writ  in  thee, 
As  when  some  pharos-tower  has  lit 

Its  image  in  the  sea. 
Prefigured  shone  this  bloodless  hand, 

This  beard,  these  sunken  eyes, 
Ere  yet  Chaldean  shepherds  scann'd 

The  dial  of  the  skies. 

[47] 


THE    STAR-GAZEE 

Change,  there  is  none.     Thou  wouldst  achieve 

The  future — hold  the  clew, 
Old  threads  unwinding,  thence  to  weave 

A  fabric  of  the  New. 
Deem  now  the  subtler  wisdom  his, 

Who  seeks  not,  falteringly, 

it  "was"  or  "will  be 

And  shall  forever  be. 


What  though  a  fitful  languor  blears 

Dread  Algol's  gleaming  eye? 
What  though  the  pole-star  reels  and  veers, 

Bending  in  sure  reply 
To  the  slow-nodding  Earth,  ordain 'd 

To  touch  and  turn  once  more 
The  goal  her  slanted  globe  has  gain'd 

Ten-thousand  times  before. 


Nay,  ask  me  me  not  what  issue  waits 

Thy  venturous  design. 
Tempt  not  the  silence  of  the  Fates ; 

Nor,  vaunting  to  untwine 
With  hand  untimely  their  cott'd  skein, 

The  blameless  stars  belie, 
Call'd  in  the  ambient  sphere  to  reign 

Thy  natal  hour  foreby. 

[48] 


THE    STAR-GAZER 

But  tarry  rather,  whilst  I  trace 

The  scant  and  simple  lines 
Of  a  life-picture,  that  with  grace 

Of  no  proud  emblem  shines ; 
Not  in  vain  lowliness  conceived, 

Nor  lofty  passion's  glow, 
But,  like  the  inland  mere,  unheaved 

By  pangs  of  ebb  and  flow. 


An  only  child  was  I;  and  one 

Of  lonely  temper — prone 
The  boisterous  merry  throng  to  shun, 

And  ramble  forth  alone; 
Sometime,  high  clambering  to  explore 

Paths  of  the  still,  dark  wood 
That  frown 'd  down,  where,  hard  by  the  shore, 

My  mother's  cottage  stood. 


Yet,  near  the  sea-bank's  shelving  sand, 

By  swallows  thridded,  best 
I  loved  to  linger,  on  the  strand 

Wave-wash 'd,  in  childish  quest 
Of  shells  and  stones  and  seaweeds  bright ; 

Glancing,  betimes,  away 
To  watch   some   white-wing 'd   vessel's   flight 

Forth  from  the  inner  bay. 

[49] 


THE    STAE-GAZEE 

Such  eve  as  waits  on  brumal  days 

Whose  calm,  no  cloudlet  mars 
First  won  my  rapt  and  curious  gaze 

To  this  black  night  of  stars. 
Sharp  was  their  glitter;  and  methought 

They  pierced  the  frosty  air 
In  stern,  sad  admonition,  fraught 

With  penance  or  despair. 


I  learn 'd  to  know  them.     For  there  dwelt, 

Yet  farther  from  the  town 
Than  we,  beyond  the  brook  and  belt 

Of  pine-trees   straggling   down 
Shoreward,  with  granite  boulders  lined, 

A  hermit  old  and  gray, 
By  children  dreaded.     He  divined, 

When  near  his  cell  to  stray 


Chance  wanderings  led  me,  my  grave  mood 

And  meditative  bent. — 
Eare  hours,  as  with  a  grandsire  good, 

By  that  rude  hearth  I  spent. 
Wise  proverbs  held  he,  in  full  store, 

Tales  and  quaint  histories; 
And  secrets  of  supernal  lore, 

Unshared  of  men,  were  his. 

[50] 


THE    STAR-GAZER 

What  powers  the  fickle  moon  constrain, 

The  hermit  show  'd  me ;  what 
Portents  to  terrors  dire  pertain, 

By  pest  or  famine  brought. 
Much,  so  in  pious  order  said, 

I  heard  and  ponder 'd  well; 
Yet,  in  his  great  black  book  I  read 

More  than  he  wist  to  tell. 


There,  on  its  dingy  pages  wide, 

Lay  spread  the  astral  sphere, 
Which  thrice-four  ruling  Signs  divide, 

Twelve  Houses  of  the  year ; 
While  constellated  figures  strange 

Haunt  each  his  native  zone, 
Some  toward  the  zenith  wont  to  range, 

Some  to  the  nadir  known. 


And  what  I  learn 'd  I  taught  again. 
Deem  not,  sir  stranger,  those 

Who  on  still  paths  aloof  from  men 
Seeming  to  wander,  close 

Their  gates  to  the  dull  fatuous  herd- 
Deem  not  the  anchoret 

A  pity-sever 'd  soul,  unstirr'd 
By  fondness  and  regret ; 

[51] 


THE    STAR-GAZER 

Nor  that  true  thoughts,  whose  force  hath  swell 'd 

Springs  of  the  pensive  heart, 
Till  by  rich  overflow  compell'd 

Its  burthen  to  impart, 
Shall  fail  their  blessing  to  convey, 

With  message  vainly  sped, 
Though  a  child  finger  point  the  way, 

And  childish  steps  be  led. 


To  a  near  neighbor's  fostering  care 

A  shipwreck 'd  man  consign 'd 
(So  his  crush 'd  fortunes  to  repair 

And  in  due  season  find 
The  dear  pledge  biding  its  true  claim) 

A  little  daughter.    She 
Scarce  eight  years  reckon 'd  to  her  name, 

Eleven  were  past  for  me. 


Comrades  we  proved.    No  outer  mark 

Did  of  like  mien  appear, 
To  bind  us.     Her  great  eyes  were  dark, 

Her  brow  shone  swarthy-clear. 
But  a  mysterious  concord  rare 

Of  query  and  reply — 
Of  mingled  faith  and  wonder  there ; 

Here,  of  wise  ministry. 

[52] 


THE    STAK-GAZER 

Oft,  by  the  tide-worn  marge,  serene 

Still  afternoons,  heart-free, 
After  the  closed  school,  now  between 

Gray  crag  and  whispering  sea 
We  roved,  now  on  the  pebbly  sand 

At  the  wet  edge  stoop  'd;  fain 
The  crab  to  capture,  or  lay  quick  hand 

(Dash'd  with  the  briny  rain) 


Upon  small  silvery  fishes,  flung 

Danger 'd  or  past  restore, 
To  gasp  and  leap  and  quiver  among 

Strange  mates  of  the  dry  shore. 
I  told  her  how  the  frolic  brood 

Their  fierce  foe  fail  to  heed, 
Then  in  mad  sudden  flight  pursued 

To  shallow  refuge  speed. 


When  autumn  round  the  northern  wave 

Night's  mantle  earlier  threw, 
What  time  no  gairish  moonbeams  drave 

The  weakling  stars  from  view, 
We,  some  hour  (while  below  our  feet 

My  nested  swallows  slept), 
From  the  tall  sea-bank's  beetling  seat 

Watch  'd  the  slow  Wain,  that  swept 

[53] 


THE    STAR-GAZER 

Low-wheeling  past  the  watery  verge, 

Cloud-blended,  threatful;  yet 
Not  once  by  that  wild,  darkling  surge 

Are  its  bright  axles  wet. 
I  show'd  her  there  the  pointers  twain, 

Which  to  the  lodestar  lead, 
Whereof,  her  lost  course  to  regain, 

Each  errant  bark  hath  need. 


Then,  why  the  polar  tract  inclines 

With  tilted  shaft,  I  tried 
To  show;  and  named  the  potent  Signs, 

Some  here  at  harvest-tide, 
Some  missing. — She  turn'd,  wonderingly, 

And  faintly  smiled,  at  tale 
Of  crabs  and  fishes  in  the  sky. 

I  said:  "No  ship  shall  sail 


"Your  farthest  ocean,  nor  even  a  bird 

Skim  the  wide  billowy  waste, 
But  fateful  planets  erst  concurred 

Thereto,  with  sure  stars  placed 
In  dominant  conjunction.     So 

'T  is  in  wise  books  writ  plain — 
What  ancient  men,  mindful  to  know, 

Solved,  searching.    Look  again, 

[54] 


THE    STAR-GAZER 

"  Where  yonder  huddling  swarm,  apart 

From  their  star  comrades  flown, 
Upward  with  light  wings  seems  to  dart — 

As   ' Seven   Sisters'   known. 
Six  only  though  we  now  behold, 

Another  in  sooth  there  is, 
Seen  sometime,  sometime  gone.     Of  old, 

Dove  children,  Pleiades, 


"Men  call'd  them:  which  fond  daughters  true, 

Once  harvest-toils  begun, 
Straight  with  ungarner'd  shreds  upflew, 

Their  father's  cheer.     But  one, 
As  oft  betwixt  white  cliffs  they  sped, 

Each  time  was  sunder 'd  far, — 
That  lost  one."     Myra  laugh 'd  and  said, 

"I  am  the  seventh  star." 


Came  winter;  and,  flowery  spring  withal 

From  Myra's  sire  had  come 
Tidings  and  token  and  the  call 

To  her  far  foreign  home. 
All  freighted  the  tall  vessel  lay, 

And  would,  from  the  quay-side, 
Drop  seaward  to  the  outer  bay 

With  the  late-ebbing  tide. 

[55] 


THE    STAR-GAZER 

Then  straight,  as  she  her  cable  slipt 

And  the  huge  hull  began 
To  move,  I,  where  the  hill-ridge  dipt, 

Back  by  the  cross-path  ran 
Homeward,  and  with  expectant  gaze 

Stood  on  our  bank  once  more. 
Soon  her  black  mast-tips  I  saw  graze 

The  sky-line,  where  the  shore 


Sloped  to  the  harbor  bar.    And  now 

She  glided  forth  full-seen ; 
And  the  fresh  breeze  athwart  her  bow 

Catching,  I  saw  her  lean 
And  shiver,  with  cross-haul'd  topsails  lit 

By  evening's  roseate  glow 
Fading  behind  me.    Bathed  in  it, 

Through  purple  waters,  slow 


But  steadily  the  good  ship  clove 

A  northward  furrow,  until, 
Hid  by  the  rocks  at  Hermit's  Grove, 

I  lost  her: — watching  still; 
For,  tacking  easterly,  anon, 

With  her  ship's  light  hove  high, 
In  the  wide  offing,  pale  and  wan, 

Those  sails  I  could  descry. 

[56] 


THE    STAR-GAZEE 

But  to  one  formless  spark  they  seem'd 

To  shrink,  which,  with  the  sea 
Commingling,   fainter  and   fainter   gleam 'd; 

Spread  and  swam  mistily; 
Then,  like  a  firefly's  baffling  trace 

That  on  some  dewy  lawn 
At  nightfall  sportive  children  chase, 

Glimmer 'd  once — and  was  gone. 


As  in  a  dream  I  turn'd.    Some  tinge 
Of  the  day's  vanish 'd  fire 

Did  the  hill-edged  horizon  fringe 

With  dappled  crests.    And  higher, 

Yet  sunward  leaning,  the  soft-named 
Planet,  from  heavenly  seat 

Her  vesper  sovereignty  proclaim 'd 
With  silvery  visage  sweet. 


So  to  their  orbits  true  those  spheres 

Celestial  meet  and  move ; 
Which  I,  thenceforward,  through  the  years 

By  comradeship  should  prove 
Steadfast  and  guileless.     For,  all  zest 

Of  boyish  pastime  stale, 
And  my  good  mother  to  her  rest 

Now  taken,  her  pittance  frail 

[57] 


THE    STAR-GAZER 

Falling  to  me — enough  for  bread, — 

What  reck'd  I,  so,  with  men 
To  walk,  if  the  weird  paths  to  tread, 

To  know  each  denizen, 
Of  infinite  heaven  I  might  essay  ? 

Nor  hath  slow  age  yet  learn 'd, 
Here  in  my  silent  tower  (what  way 

Thy  steps  to-night  have  turn'd), 


To  cease  or  lose  or  spurn  the  lore 

Through  this  true  glass  read  clear. 
Men  say,  forsooth,  Who  at  my  door 

Entereth  and  shall  hear 
Response  of  mine,  he  can  assure 

The  hopes  of  his  emprise, 
Or,  by  sage  prescience,  work  cure 

Of  treacherous  maladies. 


And  they  believe  not,  when  I  ask, 

What  profits  it,  at  noon 
To  call  night's  revel  and  unmask 

The  spectral  guests  too  soon? — 
The  "future"  ye  feign  is — is  now; 

Nor,  when  in  hour  condign 
Led  forth  as  present,  doth  its  brow 

With  borrow 'd  graces  shine. 

[58] 


The  Isle  of  Circe 


f|e  yi)vr|. 


The  Isle  of  Circe 

AY,    well    may    moisten 'd    eyes   with    pity 
glisten, 
Great  king  and  gracious  queen  and  feasters 

all, 

Whilst  by  the  night-fed  fagot-flame  ye  listen 
To  woes  your  sovereign  pleasure  would  recall. 

Weary  our  hands,  as  through  slow  hours  they 

wielded 
The  long  tough  oar-sweeps  past  gray  rings  of 

foam; 

Weary  our  hearts,  whereto  no  beacon  yielded 
Or  glimmering   hope   or  semblance   frail   of 
home. 

Rather,  full  oft  to  mourn,  while  strange  waves 

cleaving, 
True  comrades  by   wild  men    and   monsters 

slain : 
Their  souls  bespoke  to  peace;  their  poor  bones 

leaving 
Blanch 'd  on  hot  sands  or  rotting  in  the  rain. 


Remain 'd  one  ship,  and  shipmates  fifty  drove 

her 
Unrestingly,  that  day,  till  eventide, 

[61] 


THE   ISLE    OF    CIRCE 

When,  as  the  sudden  moon's  full  beam  broke 

over 
The  sea's  far  edge,  a  shining  shore  I  spied. 

I  prest  the  helm,  sign'd  for  smart  stroke;  and, 

swinging 
Across  low  glittering  surf-crests  toward  the 

land, 
She,   like   a  straight-flung   goat-spear,    forward 

springing 

Leapt  a  half  keel-length  up  the  hard  white 
sand. 

Silent  we  supp'd;  yet  could  no  caution  banish 
That  slumber  to  limb- weary  mortals  due 

When   at   the   gates   of   dreams   their   sorrows 

vanish 
And  with  the  wakening  sun-god  rise  anew. 

So,  by  the  mottled  dawn,  ere  the  stern  giver 
Of  light  and  labors  the  pale  sleepers  smote, 

Myself  stood  up,  and  seizing  bow  and  quiver 
Clomb  to  a  bare-peak 'd  hillock,  thence  to  note 

What  region  haply  held  us.  An  island,  lowly 
Set  in  the  azure  waves,  I  saw:  its  rim 

More  bare,  with  woody  folds  upswelling  slowly, 
Like  a  boss'd  shield,  to  a  green  centre  dim. 

[62] 


THE   ISLE    OF    CIRCE 

Whence,   from  that   midway  bower,    ere  yet  I 

tended 

With  the  first  sun-shaft  downward,  to  relate 
These   prospects   view'd,   at  once   quick   smoke 

ascended 

Coiling.     Which  thrill'd  me  when  I  saw,  and 
straight 

I  thought  to  go  and  prove:  stay'd  then  to  pon 
der — 

Might  it  not  profit,  rest  or  feast  to-day, 
To-morrow  send  some   questioning  band  forth 

yonder  ? 
And  the  Luck-bringer  help  'd ;  for  in  my  way, 


Soon  half  retraced,  an    antler 'd    deer    stoop 'd 

drinking 
Where  a  spring  widen 'd.    His  bent  neck,  seen 

true, 
A  hurtling  arrow  pierced.     With  hoarse  moan 

sinking 
Limp  at  the  weedy  marge  he  lay.    I  drew 


Quickly   my   blade,    cut   short   his   strife,   firm 

fasten  'd 

The  hooves  by  withes  together,   my  quarry 
slung 

[63] 


THE   ISLE   OF    CIRCE 

Shoulderwise ;    and,    with    steps    by    burthen 

hasten  'd, 
Before  my  glad  mates  the  huge  prize  I  flung. 

"Courage!"  I  cried;  "not  yet  the  Stygian  ferry 

1 1  Shall  claim  our  crossing,  sorrow-spent  withal. 

* '  There  's  drink  aboard ;  here  's  other  cheer ;  wax 

merry; 

"Be    one    day    named   Sea-wanderers'   Fes 
tival!" 

And,  to  obey  not  slow,  in  rightful  order 
All  services  they  wrought ;  the  wine- jars  tapt ; 

And  drank  and  ate  and  laugh 'd,  till  eve  the 

border 
Of  that  round  isle  in  drowsy  slumber  wrapt. 

But  at  cool  morn,  in  council  call'd,  discreetly 
My  thoughts   I  broach 'd:   "Comrades,   shall 
any  try, 

"  So  by  the  belted  sea  begirt  completely, 
1  ( Or  right  or  left  to  wend,  or  forth  to  hie  ? 

"Remains  naught  but  the  quest.     O'er  mid-isle 

hovering 

"Smoke  yestermorn  from  high  seat  I  could 
see. 

[64] 


THE   ISLE   OF    CIRCE 

"One  half  shall  go;  one  half  bide  its  discover 
ing: 
"Eurylochus  guiding  those;  these  led  by  me." 

So  I  said.    But  their  hearts  were  crush 'd,  and 

grievous 
Their  cries,  those  horrid  hosts  remembering 

well, 

Eaters  of  men.    Yet  could  no  tears  retrieve  us. 
Quickly  the  lots  we  cast;  and  it  befell 

Eurylochus  he  should  go.    Sad  farewells  spoken, 
Weeping  they  went,  weeping  we  watch  'd  their 

train 

Wind  hillward;  wondering  sore  what  might  be 
token 
That  dwellers'  sign,  or  benison  or  bane. — 

Scarce  was  the  sun  to  his  mid-pathway  risen, 
When   from   the   copse    Eurylochus   we   saw 

come. 

Alone  he  crept;  nor  could  his  tongue  unprison, 
All    grief-engross 'd    and    with    pale    horror 
dumb. 

Not  till  we,  in  amaze  and  hot  desire 
Of  tidings,  him  did  importune  and  pray, 

[65] 


THE   ISLE   OF    CIRCE 

Found  he  a  voice :  ' '  Up  through  wild  brake  and 

brier, 
"As  thou  didst  charge,  Ulysses,  we  held  way, 

"And  to  a  mansion  came,  splendid  and  stately: 
"Itself  unthreatening ;  but  by  the  gateway 

glower  'd 

"Tigers  and  grisly  wolves.     Some  crouch 'd  se 
dately 

"Chap-licking;    some,    wagging    long    tails, 
sprang  forward, 

"And   their    huge   paws   on   lap   or  shoulders 

throwing, 

"Fain  upon  us  like  petted  dogs  to  fawn, 
"Seem'd  with  big  eyes  to  beg  and  bar  our  going. 
'  *  But  we,  these  passing,  cross  'd  the  court-yard 
lawn; 

"Then  paused,  as  at  the    porch    we    stood,  to 

hearken 
"What  throbbings  fell  of  a  great  loom's  sharp 

hum; 
"While,  where  low  pendent  films  of  vine-leaf 

darken 

"Those  fatal  doors,  sound  of  sweet  song  did 
come, 

[66] 


THE   ISLE    OF    CIRCE 

"Forth  swelling — and  the  whole  air  moan'd;  or 

human 

' '  The  voice,  or  of  a  goddess.    Then  of  us  one, 
' '  '  Hark !  0  hark, '  cried ;  '  some  nymph  divine  or 

woman 

"  'Within  doth  weave  and  sing.     Call  we!' 
"  'T  was  done: 

''They  spoke  and  call'd.     The  tall  doors  swang 

asunder ; 

"She  came;  bade  enter;  and  in  mad  folly  all 
"(Save    me    who    stopt    suspicious)     vanish 'd 

under 
"That  roof  of  hell,  past  rescue  or  recall." 

Eurylochus    ceased. — My    sword    to    shoulder 

slinging, 
Bright-bladed,  keen,  me  straightway  I  bade 

lead 

By  the  same  path.    But  at  my  feet,  close  cling 
ing, 
Prone  he  lay,  and  in  piteous  tone  did  plead : 

"Not    thither,    great    Ulysses!    take    me    not 

thither ! 

"Thyself  will  ne'er  return.     'T  were  better, 
die 

[67] 


THE   ISLE   OF    CIRCE 

"Than  as  charm 'd  wolf  or  leopard  pine  and 

wither. 

"Nay,  these  still  live;  with  these  to  ship  and 
fly!" 

"Eurylochus,  thou,"  I  said,  "art  free  to  tarry 
"Eating  and  drinking  by  the  beach 'd  pin 
nace  here. 

' '  But  I  some  cure  to  my  lost  comrades  carry : 
"  'T  is  stern  necessity ;  my  course  lies  clear. ' ' 

So  saying,  with  swift  steps  my  way  I  winded 
Upward,  far  spurning  ship  and  sandy  shore; 

Darkly  the  while  of  ancient  griefs  reminded, 
And  o'er  these  fresher  marvels  brooding  sore. 

And  as  to  the  grove-cinctured  summit  nearer 
I  drew,  and  of  that  island-dome  grew  ware, 

Which,   where   the    slanting   sunbeam   pierced, 

seen  clearer, 
Gave  glimpse  of  its  enchanted  portals,  there 

Met  me  a  princely  youth,  blooming  and  tender — 
Such  grace  as  briefest  sits  on  mortal  head; 

And  straight  I   knew   again  the   weird  Luck- 
sender. 
He,  my  hand  pressing,  in  low  accents  said: 

[68] 


THE   ISLE   OF    CIRCE 

"Whither    now,    fate-worn   wanderer,   thicket- 
threading, 

' '  Tendest  alone  in  guileful  region  strange  ? 
"Thy  comrades  yonder  in  foul  sties  now  bed 
ding 
"The  bristly  penance  pay  of  porcine  change. 

1  i  Whom  to  redeem,  forsooth,  thou  goest  ?  Rather 
"Thyself  like  them  in  swinish  couch  to  lie! 

"But  lo,  take  thou  the  antidote,  ere  farther 
"Thy  rash  steps  mount,  of  Circe's  sorcery. 


"When  she  with   gracious   hand   the    poison 'd 

chalice 
"Proffers   (which  nathless  quaff  thou  undis- 

may'd), 

"This  potent  herb  in  turn  shall  stay  the  malice 
' '  Of  those  black  arts,  and  'neath  the  threaten 
ing  blade 

"Of  thy  bare  sword  her  proud  soul  quail  and 

cower. ' ' 
So   saying,   a   frail   plant  pulling   from   the 

ground, 
He  show'd  me.     Black  its  root,  milk-white  the 

flower. 
Holy  its  name  divine;  of  man,  scarce  found. 

[69] 


THE   ISLE   OF    CIRCE 

The  helping   god   was    gone.     Plain    signs    I 

follow 'd; 

And,  as  I  pass'd  the  sad-eyed  monsters  tame, 
Of  the  good  drug  I  held  some  portion  swallow 'd ; 
And   on   the   moaning   porch   strong-hearted 
came; 

Nor  paused  to  hear,  but  with  clear  voice  uplifted 
I  call'd.     She  came;  beneath  the  slumbrous 

vine 
Led  where  dim  sun,  through  flickering  shadows 

sifted, 

And  crimson  glow  of  shimmering  walls  com 
bine, 

Into  the  bright-hued  banquet-hall.     All  gently 
On  ivory  throne  she  made  me  sit;  fill'd  high 

The  fragrant  wine-cup   (which  malevolently 
She  had  with  bane  infused)  ;  and  her  dark 
eye 

Beam'd  with  soft  fervor,  the  fell  draught  com 
mending. 
But   when   it    (bane-bereft)    had   pass'd   my 

throat, 

The  sorceress  then,  the  while  she  forward  bend 
ing 

With  white  arm  raised  and  golden  wand  me 
smote, 

[70] 


THE   ISLE   OF    CIRCE 

Did  by  harsh  word  her  bosom's  guile  discover: 
" Hence  to  the  sty!     Go  join  thy  wallowing 

mates!" 
But  like  the  cloud-spark  my  swift  sword  flash 'd 

over 

Her  pale   brow   and   pearl-twined   luxuriant 
plaits 

Of  ebon  hair.    With  loud  shriek  she  sped  under 
My  sword-arm's  menace,  and  close  clasping 

cried : 
''What  man  art  thou?    What  mortal  hath  such 

wonder 
* '  Unheard-of  wrought,  these  potions  to  abide  ? 

"For  never,  never  did  other  lips  unblighted 
"Press  the  drugg'd  bowl,  save  thine.    Ah  yes, 

't  was  true ! 

"Ulysses    thou    art,    whose    coming   the    sure- 
sighted 

"Wing'd  Messenger  oft  warn'd  me  I  should 
rue, 

"From  Trojan  field  thy  lone  bark  homeward 

steering. — 

"But  sheathe,  I  pray,  thy  sword;  and  come 
where  rest 

[71] 


THE   ISLE   OF    CIECE 

"The  wanderer  waits — with  love  thy  sad  heart 

cheering 

''And  couch  of  more  than  mortal  charms  pos- 
sest." 

"Fair    Circe,    dread    enchantress,    darest   thou 

utter 

"Love's  name    (I  answered),  whilst  in  noi 
some  sty 

' '  My  hapless  comrades  with  brute  voices  mutter 
"The  anguish  bred  of  thy  fierce  contumely? 

"  Think -'st  thou  this  hilted  blade  hath  foil'd  all 

vainly 
"Those   charms  whose   dart  gods  only  may 

repel 

"(Or  man  with  god),  but  to  succumb  insanely 
"To  the  bland  witchery  of  second  spell?" 

I  spoke.  And,  with  no  word,  her  steps  she 
guided 

Across  the  festal  chamber's  polish 'd  floor 
And  the  paved  corridor  whose  length  divided 

The  palace  from  the  postern  pens.    Their  door 

Flung  wide,  forth  rush'd  the  headlong  swinish 
rabble 

(Sad  souls  in  bristly  skin  and  porcine  mould) 
Groaning  and  groveling  with  half -human  babble 

At  the  enchantress'  feet.    With  wand  of  gold 

[72] 


THE   ISLE   OF    CIRCE 

Poised  in  her  firm  soft  hand,  before  them  throw 
ing 
A  different  drug — which  they  devour 'd,  she 

then 
Touch 'd  lightly  each  one.      Straightway   I  saw 

off  flowing 
Their  brutal  rough  integuments.     Again 


My  men  they  were   and   knew   me;    and   each 

portly 
Embower 'd    column    re-murmur 'd    our    fond 

cries, 
As  they  clung  to  me  and  kiss'd  my  hands.    Then 

shortly 
Spoke  Circe :  * '  Cease ;  no  more  of  tearful  eyes ; 

"  'T  is  well.    Now  by  bright  afternoon  unbroken 
"Speed    thy    way    downward    to    the    wave- 
fretted  strand, 

' l  Wily  Ulysses ;  and  to  thy  mates  take  token 
"Of   this   our  bounteous   cheer   and  helpful 
hand." 

Nor  tarried  I ;  but  soon  by  that  sore-hearted 
Despairing  company  with  glad  mien  I  stood: 

It  was  as  if  some  father,  long  departed, 

Had  from  the  grave  his  whilom  life  renew 'd. 

[73] 


THE   ISLE   OF    CIRCE 

1 1  Refrain !  refrain ! "  I  cried ;  ' '  kindles  no  longer 
*  *  The  sullen  sea-god  his  belated  ire : 

"The    potions   brew'd    at    Circe's   board    flow 

stronger 
"Than  Aeol's  blasts  or  dull  Cyclopean  fire. 

"Then  follow,  spell-inspired;  seize  chance  and 

follow, 
"Ere  yonder  sun-god  stoops  to  the  sapphire 

lake! 

"Upward,  with  winged  feet,  o'er  hill  and  hol 
low; 
"And  in  enchanted  halls  your  wassail  take!" 


But,  royal  sire,  the  fagot-flame,  to  ember 

Sinking  apace,  bids  spare  your  patient  ears. 

The  tale  is  long;  nor  boots  it  to  remember 
Too  many  woes  at  once  of  vanish 'd  years. 

Another  eve,  if  suiteth  so  thy  pleasure, 

Thine  and  the  noble  queen's,  I  shall  renew 

These  tasks  begun:  how    the    sure    homeward 

measure 
Of  our  weird  voyage  immortal  Circe  drew; 

How  my  ship 's  crew,  her  warnings  all  unheeded, 
Wander 'd  to  death  without  those  mystic  walls, 
For  that  their  souls  a  subtler  knowledge  needed 
Of  the  charm 'd  cup  that  heals  while  it  en 
thralls. 

[74] 


Ulysses'  Convoy 


Finis  et  erroris  miser i  Phaeacia  tellus. 


Ulysses'  Convoy 


HIS  tale  was  ended.    But  the  throng 
Were  hush'd  in  silence  all: 
Spell-bound   their  speechless   thoughts  were 

held 
Throughout  the  shadowy  hall. 

Then  King  Alcinoiis  spoke  and  said: 

"Ulysses,  since  at  last 
"Within  my  mansion's  ample  gates 

"Thy   wandering   feet   have    pass'd, 

"Therefore,  methinks,  no  hopes  deferr'd, 
"No  doubts  or  drif tings  more 

"Await  thee,  though  full  many  and  dire 
"Thy  sorrows  heretofore. — 

"But  ye,  my  lieges,  every  one, 
"Mark  me — ye  who  each  day 

' '  Sit  by,  the  council  wine  to  quaff 
"And  hear  the  minstrel's  lay: 

"Pack'd  for  our  guest  the  strong  chest  holds 
"The  garments,  gold  fine-wrought, 

"And  other  gifts,  which  to  my  hearth 
"Phaeacian  nobles  brought. 

[77] 


ULYSSES'    CONVOY 

' '  But  let  us  give  him,  man  for  man, 

"Tripod  and  bowl  beside — 
"By  tithes  collected  we,  in  turn, 

"Shall  be  indemnified." 

Thus  spoke  Alcinoiis;  and  his  words 

Full  approbation  earn'd. 
They  then  unto  their  several  homes 

For  nightly  rest  return 'd. 

But  soon  as  rosy-finger 'd  dawn 
Her  earliest  beam  display 'd, 

Briskly  they  to  the  ship  their  gifts 
Of  shining  bronze  convey 'd. 

These  in  her  hold  the  king  himself, 

Alcinoiis,  safe  bestow 'd, 
Where  naught  should  hinder  hand  or  arm 

Of  oarsmen,  while  they  row'd. 

Next,  to  their  sovereign's  house  again, 

A  banquet  to  prepare. 
A  bullock  to  great  Zeus  he  slew, 

The  cloud-wrapt  Thunderer. 

Choice  parts  in  worship  burn  'd,  themselves 

To  glorious  feasting  fell. 
For  them,  Demodocus  plied  his  song, 

The  bard  they  honor 'd  well. 

[78] 


ULYSSES'   CONVOY 

So  fared  they.     But  Ulysses  oft 

Sunward  his  glances  turn'd, 
In  haste  its  setting  to  behold, 

So  for  the  start  he  yearn 'd. 

As  when  a  man  who  all  day  long 

Has  plough 'd  a  field,  behind 
Two  tawny  oxen,  holds  no  thought 

But  supper  in  his  mind; 

And  glad  he  is,  when  the  sun  dips, 

To  plod  his  weary  way 
Homeward,  so  was  Ulysses  glad 

To  note  its  sinking  ray. 

Straightway  to  his  Phaeacian  hosts, 

Those  lovers  of  the  oar, 
He  spoke;  but  to  the  king  his  words 

Their  chiefest  message  bore. 

"Alcinoiis,  ruler  of  the  land, 

''This  people's  glorious  head, 
' 'Pour  offerings  and  dismiss  me  now, 

"By  safe,  sure  convoy  sped. 

"And  fare  ye  well.     This  hour  brings  true 

"My  dream  of  happiness: 
"Convoy  and  gifts,  all  which  I  pray 

"The  gods  of  heaven  may  bless. 

[79] 


ULYSSES'   CONVOY 

"May  I,  home  reaching,  scatheless  find 
' '  True  wife  and  all  most  dear ; 

"As  may  yourselves  make  glad  your  wives 
"And  children,  tarrying  here. 

"Every  well-being  't  is  my  prayer 
"Be  yours,  by  heaven's  behest; 

"And  never  may  mischance  or  bane 
"On  this  good  people  rest." 

So  said  he;  and  applauding  loud 

They  bade  with  one  accord 
To  set  the  guest  upon  his  way, 

So  righteous  was  his  word. 

Then  to  his  herald  spoke  the  king: 

* l  Pontonoiis,  wine  to  hand ! 
"That  Father  Zeus  may  speed  our  guest 

"Forth  to  his  native  land." 

So  through  the  hall  each  f caster's  cup 

Fill'd  high  in  solemn  wise, 
Libation  to  the  gods,  who  hold 

Blest  mansions  in  the  skies, 

Eight  where  they  sat  they  pour'd. — Then  rose 

Ulysses,  thus  the  last 
Speaking,  as  to  Arete 's  hand 

A  brimming  cup  he  pass'd. 

[80] 


ULYSSES'   CONVOY 

"With  my  farewell,  0  queen,  abide 

"Rejoicing  to  the  end; 
"Unto  old  age  and  death,  whose  fates 

"O'er  mortal  men  impend. 

"I  go;  but  dwell  thou  happy  here 
"In  this  house,  gladdening 

"Thy  children  and  the  people  and 
"Alcinoiis  the  king." 

So  saying,  great  Ulysses  cross 'd 
The  threshold,  while  the  way 

Shoreward  a  royal  herald  led, 
Where  the  swift  vessel  lay. 

Also  the  queen  sent  maids.     One  bore 

Mantle  and  tunic  fine; 
Another  fetch  'd  the  well-lock  'd  chest ; 

A  third  brought  bread  and  wine. 

By  sea  and  ship  arriving,  straight 
All  these  the  gallant  crew 

Received  and  stored.    Then,  for  his  bed 
On  deck  abaft  they  threw 

Soft  rugs   and  linen   coverlet, 
Suited  to  sleep  profound. 

Ulysses,  next,  himself  on  board 
In  silence  laid  him  down; 

[81] 


ULYSSES'   CONVOY 

Whilst  they  their  seats  took,  each  with  all 

Well  order 'd  to  agree, 
And  from  the  punctured  mooring-stone 

Cast  the  stern-cable  free. 

As  they,  back  leaning,  spurn 'd  the  brine 

Abaft  with  bending  blade, 
That  moment  on  Ulysses'  eyes 

The  spell  of  sleep  was  laid; 

Sleep  of  the  sweetest,  deathlike,  deep. — 

But  she,  as  on  footing  dry 
Four  stallions,  springing  with  one  bound 

Under  the  lash,  fling  high 

Their  heels,  and  swiftly  scour  the  plain, 
Even  so  the  pinnace  sprang 

Stern  high,  and  mightily  behind 
The  purple  billow  sang. 

Steady  she  ran,  unswerving,  sure ; 

Nor  with  her  fleet  emprise 
Might  even  the  wheeling  falcon  vie, 

The  swiftest  bird  that  flies.— 

Thus  the  swift  vessel  plough 'd  the  waves, 

Bearing  a  crafty  man 
Like  the  immortals  in  wise  arts 

Of  shrewd,  resourceful  plan. 

[82] 


ULYSSES'   CONVOY 

Unnumber'd  woes  his  heart  had  known, 
By  wars  and  wanderings  taught; 

But  now  in  peaceful  sleep  he  lay, 
Those  sorrows  all  forgot. — 

What  hour  uprose  morn's  herald  star, 

The  brightest  in  the  sky, 
That  hour  unto  Ulysses'  isle 

The  speeding  ship  drew  nigh. 

A  bay  there  is,  of  Phoreys  named, 

The  old  man  of  the  sea, 
In  Ithaca,  where  two  jutting  crags 

Slope  inward  crouchingly. 

These  fend  the  storm-roll  'd  billows  off 

Without;  and,  once  inside, 
Boats  all  unanchor'd  and  unmoor 'd 

In  waveless  shelter  ride. 

There  grows  an  olive,  slender-leaved, 

Hard  by  the  harbor's  head; 
Near  it  a  lovely  grotto  dim, 

Divinely  tenanted 

By  nymphs  call'd  naiads.    Bowls  and  urns 

Of  native  stone,  descried 
Dimly  within. — Hither  wild  bees 

Their   fragrant   treasure   hide. — 

[83] 


ULYSSES'   CONVOY 

Tall  looms  of  stone  within,  whereon 
Sea  purple  shot  with  gold 

The  naiads  weave  to  filmy  veils, 
A  wonder  to  behold! 

Pure  trickling  water  has  the  grot ; 

And   two   doorways  incline, 
The  one  toward  Boreas,  trod  by  men; 

The  other,  more  divine, 

Faces  the  South  Wind.    To  this  door 
No  human  step  draws  near: 

Only  immortal  beings  know 
The  way  to  enter  here. — 

Into  the  harbor,  known  of  old, 

They  drove  the  convoy  bark; 

Beach 'd  her  a  half-length  on  the  sand 
Above  high-water  mark. 


[84] 


ULYSSES'   CONVOY 

Then,  first,  Ulysses  from  the  ship 

They  lifted,  bed  and  aU, 
And  laid  him  on  the  sandy  shore, 

By  slumber  held  in  thrall. 

His   goods,   next,   which  Athena  moved 

Phaeacians  to  bestow, 
Beside  the  olive-tree  they  brought 

And  set  them  in  a  row, 

Well  from  the  trodden  path  apart, 

Lest  the  wayfaring  folk 
Might  have  the  picking  of  the  pile 

Before  Ulysses  woke. 


[85] 


Agamemnon's  Ruth 


....  nee  siletur  illud  potentissimi  regis  ana- 
paestum,  qui  laudat  senem  et  fortunatum  esse 
dicit,  quod  inglorius  sit  atque  ignobilis  ad  supre- 
mum  diem  perventurus. 


Agamemnon's  Ruth 

A  GAM.     Old  man,  to  the  front  here ! 
Come  forth. 
0.  M.  Forth  I  come. — 

What  new  work,  Agamemnon  my  lordV 
AGAM.     Haste  on. 
0.  M.  Here  I  haste. 

All  sleepless  mine  age,  right  watchful 

of  eye, 

to  attend  thy  command. 
AGAM.     What  star  plies  its  way  yonder? 
0.  M.     Sirius, 

nigh  to  the  seven-crown 'd  Pleiad 
enrolling,  in  mid-heaven  yet. 
AGAM.     Ay,  true.    Not  a  sound, — 
nor  of  birds  nor  the  sea. 
Full  silent,  each  wind 

his  peace  o'er  Euripus  is  holding. 
0.  M.     But  thou, 

why  without  thy  pavilion  dost  hie, 
Agamemnon  my  lord? 
Quiet  reigns  over  Aulis.    Not  yet 
stirs  the  watch  on  the  wall. — 
Go  we  in/ — 
AGAM.     Aged  man, 

I  envy  thy  lot. 

[89] 


AGAMEMNON'S   RUTH 

That  mortal  I  envy, 

whose  life-course,  undanger'd, 

hath  sped  to  the  end,  unhonor'd,  un 
known. — 

But  the  great, 

them  I  envy  not  so. 
0.  M.     Yet  there 

lies  the  beauty  of  life. 
AGAM.     But  that  beauty,  how  frail! 

Sweet  is  honor;  yet  bitter,  betimes, 

when  the  times  suit  it  not. — 

Now,  't  is  heaven's  behest,  unfulfill'd, 

makes  havoc  of  life; 

now,  't  is  man, 

with  his  clashing  opinions,   works 
ruin. 
0.  M.     Nay,   I   cannot  admire 

such  words  spoke  by  one  of  thy  lofty 
estate. 

Not  the  price 

of  unclouded  good-cheer, 

Agamemnon,  paid'st  thou 

for  Atreus  as  sire. 

Joy  is  due  thee — with  pain, 

since  mortal  thou  art. 

Though  it  be  not  thy  choice, 

yet  the  gods,  in  their  pleasure, 

shall  order  it  thus. — 

But  now, 

[90] 


AGAMEMNON'S   RUTH 

by  the  lamp's  ample  flame, 

a  letter  thou  writest, 

the  same 

thou  still  hast  in  hand. 

Writing  first,  then  erasing; 

sealing  now,  now  unsealing; 

the  tablet  anon 

to  the  earth  thou  dost  fling, 

the  big  tear  forth-welling  meanwhile. 

No  sign  of  despair 

is  absent :  of  madness,  no  mark  but  thou 

bearest. 

What  stirs  thee  ?    What  means 
this  strange  trouble,  my  king? 
Pray  thy  story  impart. 
To  a  good  man  and  true 
thou  wilt  breathe  it. 
Of  old, 

with  thy  consort  I  came 
to  thy  mansion:  even  I, 
by  Tyndareus  sent,  one    part    of    her 
dower ; 

to  serve  on  the  bride  and  be  loyal. 
AGAM.     Forth  then, 
unto  Argos 

this  missive  bear  thou. — 
And  more, 
in  its  folds 
what  the  tablet  conceals, 

[91] 


AGAMEMNON'S   EUTH 

by  word  I  will  tell  thee, 
all  that's  writ  here;  for  faithful  indeed 
art  thou,  to  the  queen,  to  us  all. 
0.  M.     Say  on,  make  it  known, 

that  my  tongue  with  thy  written  decree 

may  accord. 
AGAM.     [reads] 

"To  my  first  tidings  now  I  send, 
"child  of  Leda,  this  new  word: 
"not  to  guide  our  daughter  forth, 
"toward  Euboea's  bosomy  wing, 
"unto  wave-spent  Aulis. 
"At  some  future  hour  will  we 
"spread  the  nuptial  banquet." 
0.  M.     But  Achilles,  thus  baffled,— 
how,  pray,  can  he  fail 
his  heart-swelling  anger  to  visit  amain 
on  thee  and  thy  spouse? 
Here  is  danger.     Declare, 
what  say'st  thou? 
AGAM.     The  name,  not  the  blame, 
is  Achilles'.     Of  nuptials 
naught  knows  he,  knows  naught  of  our 

scheme : 

how  I  solemnly  sanction 'd 
the  gift  to  his  arms 
of  our  daughter  as  bride. 
0.  M.     Ah !  fell  was  thy  daring, 
Agamemnon,  my  lord. 

[92] 


AGAMEMNON'S   RUTH 

Thy  daughter,  to  wed  the  goddess-born 

man, 

thou  didst  promise :  and  then 
for  the  Danaans'  sake 
wouldst  lead  her  to  death. 
AGAM.     Woe  is  me!  my  good  spirit  hath  fail'd 

me. 

Woe,  woe !  to  the  curse  I  am  fallen. — 
But  go!  ply  thy  foot, 
not  with  step  of  old  age. 
0.  M.     'T  is  speedy,  0  king. 
AGAM.     Hearken  now! 

By    the    grove-border 'd    fountains   sit 

not! 

Let  no  slumber  beguile  thee! 
0.  M.     Forbear,  say  no  more. 
AGAM.     Each  time,  far  or  near, 

some  cross-road  when  passing, 

spy  about  thee;  beware, 

lest  thou  mark  not  the  flying  of  wheels 

that  roll  past, 
to  the  Danaan  ships 
hither  bringing  my  child. 
For  if  so  the  convoy  thou  do  then  en 
counter, 

straight  back  turn  the  steeds, 
swing  the  lash, 

for    the   solemn    Cyclopean   homestead 
straight  aiming. 

[93] 


AGAMEMNON'S   RUTH 

0.  M.     'T  shall  be  done. 
AGAM.     Sally  forth ! 
0.  M.     But  for  these 

my  tidings,  declare 
what  surety  shall  be, 
to  thy   child,   to  thy  queen? 
AGAM.     The  seal  (guard  it  well) 

on  the  missive  thou  bringest. — 

Away!     Pale  already 

yon  day-beam  (the  sun-god, 

his  chariot  of  fire) 

gleams  out.     Seize  thy  portion  of  toil. 

Of  mortals,  not  one 

all-prosper 'd  shall  be, 

consummately  blest. 

None  is  born  but  his  birthright  is 
sorrow. 


[94] 


Temple  Song 

ION 
(In  front  of  the  temple  at  daybreak) 

MARK  yon  bright  steeds  and  chariot  of  the 
Sun! 

Now  on  the  world  below 
He  beams;  and  while  each  star, 
Before  that  fiery  ray, 
Back  into  solemn  night  doth  run, 
Parnassus'  pathless  summits  take  the  glow 
Kindled  for  mortals  by  the  orb  of  day. 

Now,  in  Apollo's  temple,  roofward  floats 
Curling  myrrh-incense;  and  the  Pythian  tnaid 
Sits  at  her  tripod  shrine, 
Chanting  for  Hellas  the  prophetic  notes 
Echoed  from  Phoebus'  lips  divine. 

Then  come,  ye  Delphian  servitors  of  Him! 

Approach  Castalia's  silver-eddying  fount; 

And  at  the  dewy  brim 

Your  hands  with  pure  drops  lave, 

Ere  to  these  sacred  precincts  ye  may  mount; 

Guarding  a  hush'd  and  holy  tongue; 

[95] 


TEMPLE   SONG 

Letting  no  voice  untoward  thrill  the  ear 

Of  them  who  crave 

Their  dark  oracular  destinies  to  hear. 

Whilst  I  the  toil  renew 

That,  from  a  child,  hath  ever  claim 'd  my  care: 

To  sweep,  with  wreathed  laurel-bough,  each  holy 

avenue 

Of  Phoebus'  halls; 

His  floor  with  freshest  waters  to  bedew; 
And  with  my  bow  and  arrows  put  to  flight 
The  wing'd  intruders  that  would  mar 
The  spotless  statues  white. 
Fatherless,  motherless  I  grew; 
And  so  I  render  to  these  fostering  walls 
The  grateful  service  to  kind  parents  due. 


[96] 


TEMPLE   SONG 

Ply,  then,  ply  your  frondage  green, 
Besom  of  fresh-blooming  bay: 

Over  the  pavement's  marble  sheen 
So  by  His  altar  softly  sway. 

Scion  of  groves  immortal,   where 

Quenchless  waters  round  you  play'd, 

Leaping  to  bright  ambrosial  air; 
Or  in  the  sacred  myrtle-shade: 

Help  me  still  my  homage  bring, 
That  to  Apollo's  fane  I  pay, 

Soon  as  the  day-star  trims  his  wing, 
All  day  long,  and  day  by  day. 

lo  Paean !  io  Paean ! 

Glory,  glory  be  to  thee, 

0  child  of  Leto,  through  eternity. 


[97] 


TEMPLE   SONG 

Sweet  is  the  toil  and  beautiful, 

Laid,  0  Phoebus,  on  my  hand 

At  thy  radiant  vestibule, 

Prophet-portal  of  the  land. 

Honor  the  guerdon  is  of  grace: 

Heaven's  illustrious   servant  I, 

Bounden  to  no  mortal  race, 

But  to  the  gods,  who  never  die. 

Holy   labor  wearieth   not; 

Witness,  in  glad  praise,  I  bear 
Unto  the  giver  of  my  lot, 

Lord  of  the  temple,  great  and  fair. 

lo  Paean !  io  Paean ! 

Glory,  glory  be  to  thee, 

0  child  of  Leto,  through  eternity. 


But  from  the  busy  sheaf 

Of  trailing  laurel-leaf 

'T  is  time  to  turn; 

And  with  my  golden  urn 

Now  will  I  sprinkle  forth 

The  crystal  streams  of  Earth, 

That  gush'd  from  bubbling  Castaly, 

And  scatter 'd  are  by  me 

With  holy  hand  and  pure. 

[98] 


TEMPLE  SONG 

0,  that  forevermore 

My  service  may  endure 

To  Phoebus,  and  cease  not — 

Save  for  some  blissful  happy  lot. 

Ha!  ha! 

There  they  begin  their  flight, 
Leaving  their  aeries  on  Parnassus'  height. — 
I  tell  you,  hold  aloof 
Prom  the  resplendent  roof 
And  gilded  cornice  rare. 

Eagle,  beware! 

Straightway  an  arrow  from  my  bow, 
Herald  of  Jove,  shall  lay  thee  low, 
Tyrant  of  birds  with  crooked  claws. 

Ho!  yonder  another  draws 
Nigh  to  these  altars,  sailor  of  the  sky. 
A  swan  this  time!  Pass  by,  pass  by, 
0  scarlet-footed  traveler,  ere  I  shoot. 
Nay,  not  Apollo's  lute, 
Tuned  to  your  trumpet  voice, 
Shall  leave  you  choice ; 
But  to  the  Delian  lake 
Your  winged  passage  take. 
Mind !  or  this  folly  thou  wilt  rue, 
When  blood  shall  trickle  to  a  swan-song  true. 

[99] 


TEMPLE   SONG 

Aha!  what  's  here? 
What  stranger-bird, 
Coming  to  frame  some  nest  of  leaves 
Under  the  consecrated  eaves 
For  his  young  brood  ?    This  twanging  string 
Shall  hurry  hence  your  wing — 
What!  mind'st  not?    Nay,  go  seek 
Alpheus'  eddies  far;  there  multiply  your  race 
To  Phoebus'  holy  dwelling-place 
Harm  shall  not  come. — Yet  am  I  loath  to  kill 
You,  winged  harbingers  of  Heaven's  will 
To  mortal  men. 
Only  to  Phoebus,  then, 
To  whom  this  life  I  owe, 
Let  my  fond  service  and  my  toil  go  on. 

Honor  the  guerdon  is  of  grace : 

Heaven's  illustrious   servant  I, 

Bounden  to  no  mortal  race, 

But  to  the  gods,  who  never  die. 

lo  Paean!  io  Paean! 

Glory,  glory  be  to  thee, 

O  child  of  Leto,  through  eternity. 


[100] 


Wings  Triumphant 


Wings  Triumphant 

INVITATION 

TO  a  wonderful  new  sight 
We,  the  birds,  hereby  invite 
All  you  earthy  creeping  things, 
Everybody  without  wings. 
If  you  will  behave,  you  may 
Come  into  our  nest  to-day; 
Sit  around  us  in  natty  rows, 
Wearing  your  best  Sunday  clothes; 
Look  as  much  like  spick-and-span 
Jugs  and  flower-pots  as  you  can. 
Welcome  to  the  wingless. 

How  is  this,  old  Walk-on-legs, 
For  a  place  to  warm  our  eggs? 
Something  more  than  sticks  and  straw- 
Finer  than  you  ever  saw! 
We  drop  down  here  from  the  air, 
You  may  crawl  in  anywhere. 
No,  there  is  no  need  to  rush, 
And  be  sure  you  do  not  push 
Into  the  wrong  piece  of  pie 
Just  because  you  cannot  fly! 
Welcome  to  the  wingless. 

[103] 


WINGS   TRIUMPHANT 

0,  you  want  to  know,  no  doubt, 
How  birds  ever  did  make  out 
To  fence  in  the  atmosphere 
And  fling  up  this  aery  here! 
That  can  be  learnt  from  no  other 
Than  our  little  fairy  mother: 
You  are  here  now,  not  to  ask 
Idle  questions,  but  to  bask- - 
And  be  baked — a  little  while 
In  the  sunshine  of  our  smile. 
Welcome  to  the  wingless. 

We  think,  when  we  bring  our  show 
To  an  end  and  let  you  go, 
After  everyone  has  heard 
The  jokes  of  the  Dicky  bird 
And  has  seen  the  winged  man 
Waltzing  with  a  pelican, 
You  will  be  apt  to  remark, 
There  was  never  such  a  lark 
As  when  Pop  Chickwin  was  crown  'd 
In  the  merry-go-half-round ! 
Welcome  to  the  wingless. 


[104] 


WINGS   TRIUMPHANT 


GRAND  FINALE 
MESSENGER 

OYE  all-fortunate,  more  than  tongue  can 
tell! 

0  feather 'd  tribes,  thrice-blessed,  welcome  now 
Your  lord  and  master  to  his  happy  home. 
How  doth  he  come,  more  radiant  than  the  beam 
Of  some  effulgent  star  in  house  of  gold ! 
Not  the  ray'd  brilliance  of  the  far-flashing  sun 
Hath  shone  like  him,  who  draws  nigh  with  his 

bride 

Of  beauty  ineffable,  whilst  in  his  hand  he  wields 
Zeus'   weapon,   the  wing-tufted  thunderbolt. 
Unspeakable  fragrance  into  the  welkin's  depth 
Rises,  a  wondrous  sight;   and   incense-coils 
Float  idly  on  the  weird  smoke-flapping  breezes. — 
But  lo,  behold  himself!     'T  is  time  to  ope 
The  Muse's  holy  all-propitious  mouth. 

Enter  CHICKWIN,   EASILY,   and  train. 
CHORUS 

Fall  in,  fall  out;  fly  right-about; 

Waft  wide  the  airy  portal: 
With  whirring  wings  and  feathery  flings 

Surround  the  happy  mortal! 

[105] 


WINGS   TRIUMPHANT 

0  !  0  !  0  !  what  a  beauteous  bride 
Is  that  disporting  by  his  side! 

LEADER  OF  CHORUS 
All  hail,  0  thou  who  blest 
This  city  of  a  nest 

With  a  divine  alliance. — 

Immense,  immense  the  luck 
The  feather 'd  tribes  have  struck, 
Soaring  by  his  science. 

Greet  now  with  hymeneal  shout, 
Chorals  of  the  wedding-rout, 
Him  and  his  Easily. 

CHORUS 
Once  upon  a  time  the  Fates 

Queenly  Hera  thus  did  bring 
To  the  most  august  of  mates, 

The  high-throned   Olympian  king; 
Sounding   their   praise   even   so, 
Hymen  Hymenaeus  0 ! 

Gold- wing 'd  Eros  was  best  man, 

Tight  the  cherub  drew  the  reins, 

Guiding  an  immortal  span 
Over  the  celestial  plains. 

[106] 


WINGS  TRIUMPHANT 

Happy  Hera  long  ago! 
Hymen  Hymenaeus  0 ! 


CHICKWIN 

With  your  songs,  with,  your  hymns, 
I'm  delighted,  I'm  sure: 
Many  thanks  for  your  words. — 

Sing,  now,  straight  on  and  glorify 
Our  red  lightnings  of  the  sky; 
Our  dread  thunder-peals,  that  break 
Till  the  black  Earth  seems  to  quake. 


CHORUS 
How   gorgeous  the   gleam  of  the  gold-twisted 

flashes ! 

How  awful  the  flame  of  the  fierce  thunder 
bolt, 

With  its  cracks  and  its  crashes, 
By  Zeus  brandish 'd  of  old. 


0  ye  rumbling  thunders  grand, 

Cloudbursts   of   the   mountain-brow, 

This  great  conqueror  puts  his  hand 
To  your  fulminations  now; 

Easily  ordains  it  so, 

Hymen  Hymenaeus  0 ! 

[107] 


WINGS   TRIUMPHANT 

CHICKWIN 
Follow  all,  birds  of  a  feather, 

Flock  and  follow,  as  you  're  led, 
To  the  realm  of  sunny  weather, 

Where  the  nuptial  couch  is  spread. 
Give  me  your  hand,  Birdie :  how  I 

Long  to  dance  with  you  to-day! 
Take  hold  of  my  wings,  and  now  I 

Whisk  you  clear  up  and  away ! 

CHORUS 

Huzza,  huzza !    lo  triumphe  ! 
Huzza,  huzza!    Thrum,  thrum! 
Thrum  on  a  thousand  strings! 
0  Conqueror  of  Kings! 

[Exeunt.] 


[108] 


Ave  Piscator 


Also  ye  shall  not  use  this  forsayd 
crafty  dysporte,  for  no  couetysnes, 
to  the  encreasynge  and  sparynge 
of  your  money  oonly;  but  pryn- 
cypally  for  your  solace,  and  to 
cause  the  helthe  of  your  body, 
and  specyally  of  your  soule. 


Ave  Piscator 

There  are  three  stages  or  degrees 
Of  piscatorial  mysteries. 

Unnumber'd  accidents  must  meet 
To  show  the  angler  forth  complete; 

Eke  that  which  in  the  stars  is  writ, 
Piscator  nascitur  non  fit; 

Whilst  he,  on  far  perfection  bent, 
Through    each    successive    element, 

Mud,  water,  air,  essays  to  climb, 
Moulding  his  destiny  sublime. 


The   novice, — those   exist  for  him 
Which  nigh  unto  the  bottom  swim. 

Thus,  lowliest  of  the  briny  brood, 
The  flounder,  famed  for  platitude; 

In  fresh,  the  bullhead  or  horn'd  pout; 
The  eel,  long-lived  and  long-drawn-out, 

These  teach,  to  hold  with  sandy  grip 
What  chances  through  the  fingers  slip ; 

tin] 


AVE   PISCATOR 

To  brave  the  heads  and  horns  of  things 
That  clash  with  fond  imaginings ; 

How  to  doze  timely,  yet  be  full 
Of  feeling  for  a  welcome  pull; 

To  learn  what  purposes  of  state 
They  serve  who  only  sit  and  wait. 


The  second  stage,  by  one  degree 
Above  the  bottom  aims  to  be. 

Here,  through  the  middle  waters  gleam 
Perch,  shiner,  chub,  the  plucky  bream: 

A  scaly  company,  yet  each 
Blest  with  some  faculty  to  teach. 

It  is  the  realm  of  doubt  and  fear, 
Wild  hopes  and  disappointments  drear. 

But  in  his  soul  who  faltereth  not 
Celestial  patience  is  begot; 

His  boyish  fancy  is  imbued 
With  love  of  rain  and  solitude; 

Bound  him  a  frivolous,  inane, 
Much-nibbling  world  will  surge  in  vain. 

[112] 


AVE   PISCATOR 

The  third  sphere  is  the  top :  and  few, 
To  its  high  ordinances  true, 

Will  for  the  last  probation  wait, 
Which  sifts  the  small  fry  from  the  great. 

There  is  a  finny  vagabond, 
Long-nosed  marauder  of  the  pond, 

Whom  nature  suffereth  to  exist, 
Expressly  that  he  may  assist 

The  callow  neophyte  to  rise 

Through  spoon-lore  to  the  Book  of  Flies. 

Between  the  upper  and  mid  way 
The  pickerel  darts  upon  his  prey. 

Him  you,  when  spoonless,  can  feel  sure 
Of  taking  with  batrachian  lure. 

Draw  froggy 's  trousers  off  in  haste, 
Decapitate  him  at  the  waist; 

The  nether  remnant  then,  hook'd  fast, 
Fantastically  dangling,  cast 

Out  where  the  lily-pads  make  way 
There  for  the  still,  black  water — hey! 

A  swell,  a  vortex,  and  a  splash ! 
A  tug  down  on  the  supple  ash ! 

Leave  him  to  mumble  it  a  mite — 
Now  hoist  him,  higher  than  a  kite ! 

[113] 


AVE   PISCATOR 

[The  couplets  here  omitted  touch  upon  the 
achievements  of  those  to  whom  the  sacred  uten 
sils  have  been  shown  by  the  Hierophant,  who 
have  answered  the  questions  propounded  by  him, 
and  have  been  finally  advanced  from  the  Lesser 
to  the  Or  eater  mysteries  of  the  Top.] 


And  yet  no  titles  to  his  name, 
Parchment  prerequisites  to  fame; 

No  tassel 'd  cap  and  hooded  gown 
Invest   the   angler  with   renown. 

A  something  in  his  eye,  his  walk, 
Or  in  the  flavor,  of  his  talk, 

Something  not  on  the  prosaic  plan 
Stamps  the  inveterate  fisherman. 

His  grammar  is  the  cloud-fleck 'd  dawn, 
A  forest  path  his  lexicon, 

His  specialty  the  universe. 

He  can  songs  make.    He  doth  converse 

Familiarly  with  jay  and  wren, 
Or  dallies  with  the  water-hen. 

Oft  with  the  chipmunk  he  breaks  bread. — 
At  drowsy  noon,  where  rests  his  head 

Odors  of  terebinth  and  balm, 
Exhaling  slumber  soft  and  calm, 

[114] 


AVE   PISCATOR 

Wrap  him  in  dreams. — Anon,  awake — 
What  peals  the  sultry  stillness  break? 

What  shadow  sweeps  from  ledge  to  ledge 
Before  the  storm-cloud 's  livid  edge  ? 

Aeolian  voices,  piping  shrill, 

Wail  from  the  pines  that  crown  the  hill. 

"  'T  is  time,"  I  hear  Piscator  say, 
* '  To  un joint  and  quit ;  no  more  to-day. ' ' 

Behold  him  thread  the  oozy  trail 
Down  the  dark  wood  athwart  the  gale. 

The  swishing  flood  through  holm  and  holt, 
The  crack  and  fizzle  of  the  bolt 

Cannot  put  out  his  pipe,  nor  dim 
His  vision.     'T  is  enough  for  him 

Against  his  sturdy  side  to  feel 
The  swaying  burthen  of  his  creel. 


[115] 


Prologue  and  Epilogue 

GOOD    friends,    who,    while    ye    graciously 
assist, 

Do  lend  our  cause  some  reason  to  exist: 
Your  selves  to  welcome,  is  my  welcome  task, 
With   cordial   salutation;   and  to   ask 
Your  kind  attention,  ere  the  curtain  rise 
On  this  bright  circle  of  expectant  eyes. 
Know  then,  we  youthful  toilers  love  to  go 
Adown  the  fields  of  wisdom,  gleaning  slow 
Some  sheaves  of  knowledge  from  each  bygone 

age; 

Whereof  not  least  full-fruited  is  the  STAGE, 
A  stage  the  whole  world   did  to   Shakespeare 

seem: 

And  such,  our  little  college-world  we  deem ; 
The  students,  players.     Through  these   classic 

shades 

Full  many  a  flippant  trifler  masquerades, 
Acting,  from  day  to  day,  a  learned  part, 
With  little  love  of  learning  in  his  heart. 
Sincere,  the  most;  and  yet,  alas!  too  few 
Keen-eyed,  the  false  to  winnow  from  the  true: 
Content,  with  husks  to  fill  the  growing  mind, 
But  to  the  precious  golden  kernel  blind. 

[116] 


PROLOGUE 

Wherefore  we  hold  well  worthy  of  our  zeal 
That  ancient  art,  whose  power  to  reveal 
The  truth  of  life  and  manners  lives  to-day. 
As,  by  the  magic  of  the  " cathode  ray," 
Through   some   huge   pachyderm's   dense   skull 

we  gain 

A  peep  into  his  wondrous  pygmy  brain, 
So  the  quick  point,  two-hundred  years  ago, 
Of  Master  CONGREVE'S  witty  pen  pierced  through 
The  pedant's  dulness;  sketch 'd  the  madman's 

air; 

Laid  the  self-seeker 's  frail  devices  bare : 
Yet  swift  to  know  true  merit,  and  accord 
To  heavenly  constancy  its  sweet  reward. — 
The   Play   sufficient   persons   offers.     We 
Essay  to  represent  them.-  You  shall  see. 


[117] 


EPILOGUE 

Not,  when  the  curtain  falls,  I  apprehend, 
Are  our  fond  efforts  wholly  at  an  end. 
Still  lingers  something,  at  the  drama's  close, 
Like  the  faint  perfume  of  the  folded  rose. 
Apparent  still  before  the  half -shut  eye 
Pair  faces,  graceful  forms  float  dimly  by ; 
And  voices  to  fresh  voices  answering, 
Still  through  the  corridors  of  memory  ring. 
Therefore,   while  yet  my  mates   some   thought 

may  claim, 

For  your  applause  I  thank  you,  in  their  name. 
May  favoring  Fortune  on  your  steps  attend, 
As  homeward  soon  your  several  ways  ye  wend ; 
Prosper  your  undertakings;  and  increase 
Your  substance,  gather 'd  in  the  lap  of  Peace. 
Meantime,  I  charge  both  old  and  young,  fail  not 
To  store  the  truths  our  comedy  has  taught. 
Predict  the  race  not  always  of  the  swift; 
A  little  foresight  is  a  dangerous  gift. 
Not  always  falls  the  battle  to  the  strong; 
As  Samson  learn 'd,  by  living  over  long. 
For  man,  the  less  to  risk,  the  less  to  rue. 
And,  each  young  woman,  live  for  wisdom  too : 
To  be  angelic,  seem  not  all-divine, 
But  prove  the  madness  of  your  valentine. 


[118] 


Choral  Song 


LEADER 

BREAKING  over  Ocean's  stream, 
Hesperus,  of  all  the  sky 
Best  and  brightest  is  thy  beam; 
To  thy  beam  our  songs  reply. 


Sunset  rays  our  dresses  wove, 
Rainbow-hues  without  the  rain. 

Golden  fruit  in  every  grove, 
Tinkling  to  our  fond  refrain. 


CHORUS 

Best  and  brightest  in  the  sky, 
To  his  beam  our  harps  reply. 
We  his  singing  children  are, 
Daughters  of  the  Evening  Star. 
(round  dance) 


[119] 


CHORAL  SONG 

LEADER 

Seven  sisters  born  of  mother  Night, 

Our  father  took  us  on  his  knees. 
She  faded  when  we  saw  the  light, 

And  left  us  all  Hesperides. 

The  Gardens  of  the  Gods  are  here; 

These  founts,  these  flowers  our  emblems  are. 
Our  father's  eye  is  ever  near, 

Our  mother's  spirit  never  far. 


CHORUS 

Seven  sisters  born  of  mother  Night, 
She  faded  when  we  saw  the  light. 
Our  father  took  us  on  his  knees 
And  christen 'd  us  Hesperides. 
(round  dance) 


[120] 


Scyros 

MY  island  in  the  blue  sea  swims, 
The  ceaseless  ripple  laps  it  round; 
Its  frothy  edge  the  petrel  skims, 

Her  twitterings  tuned  to  hoarser  sound 
That  echoes  where  each  tireless  wave 
Searches  the  bounds  of  cove  and  cave. 

A  mountain's  head  my  island  seems, 
Of  envious  waters  shaken  free; 

Neck-like,  below,  a  green  strip  gleams, 
And  wrinkled  brow  bent  on  the  sea. 

From  crag  to  crag  my  black  goats  spring 

Whilst  by  the  marge  I  dance  and  sing. 

On  this  my  mansion's  pillar 'd  walls, 
Fair  Asia's  border  fronting  wide, 

The  earliest  ray  of  morning  falls, 
The  evening  shadows  soonest  glide 

When  the  spent  day-beams  have  declined 

To  sombre  lands  that  loom  behind. 

Thence  on  its  vengeful  errand  sent, 
Wafted  by  myriad  sail  and  oar, 

I  saw  that  mighty  armament 
Speeding  to  seize  the  opposing  shore — 

Most  sure,  I  heard  my  father  say, 

Their  doom,  to  be  slain  and  to  slay. 

[121] 


Nephte's  Song 

THE  Nile  is  rising,  rising; 
All  silently  its  tide 
From  sources  past  surmising 
Steals  on  the  country-side. 
Full  well  I  know  what  fountains 

My  bosom's  sorrow  swell, 
Hid  not  shadowy  mountains 
Where  frosts  and  vapors  dwell. 

The  lotus-lily,   sleeping, 

Smiles  in  her  watery  dream, 
One  star  her  visage  keeping 

Beneath  his  steadfast  beam. 
0,  would  that  heaven-lit  slumber, 

That  wave-borne  bed  were  mine, 
Where  trouble  cannot  cumber, 

Nor  lodestar  cease  to  shine. 

The  Nile  is  falling,  falling; 

Its  quickening  rills  subside, 
To  earth  new  life  recalling 

And  joys  of  harvest-tide. 
Mine  eyes  beheld  the  flower, 

My  hand  reach 'd  toward  the  tree. 
There  came  no  ripening  hour; 

No  fruit,  no  fruit  for  me. 

[122] 


Hymn 

OUR  God,  0  them  Most  High,  how  far 
Thy  benefits   extended   are, 
Thy  mercies  how  profound! 
When  from  the  lowest  pit  we  cry 
Thou  hearest,  though  the  floods  be  nigh; 
For  to  thy  might  nor  sea,  nor  sky, 
Nor  desert  setteth  bound. 


So  may,  0  Lord,  thy  fostering  hand 
Preserve  and  guide  us,  in  the  land 

Of  Goshen  while  we  dwell. 
Then  shall  a  stronghold  of  thy  praise 
Be  stablish'd,  without  end  of  days, 
In  Goshen  when  thy  children  raise 

The  tents  of  Israel. 


Whose  tribes,  some  time,  led  forth  by  thee, 
0  Lord  of  hosts,  once  more  shall  see 

The  fields  of  Canaan. 
The  stem  shall  stretch  its  tendrils  wide, 
In  fruitful  branches  multiplied, 
From  Jordan  to  the  salt-sea  side, 

Beersheba  to  Dan. 

[123] 


HYMN 

Our  story,  in  far  countries  heard, 

Shall  make  each  name  a  household  word, 

Each  deed  a  memory, 
Which  in  their  troubled  hearts  will  burn 
When  for  a  sign  the  people  yearn, 
To  Zion  still  for  refuge  turn, 

And  to  Jehovah  cry. 

Oft  shall  resound  by  many  a  shore 
Some  voice  of  Rachel  weeping  sore, 

Nor  will  be  comforted; 
And  for  all  languages  the  same, 
The  nations  in  thy  holy  name, 
God  of  our  fathers,  shall  proclaim 

Their  tribute  to  the  dead. 

So  may,  0  Lord,  thy  fostering  hand 
Preserve  and  guide  us,  in  the  land 

Of  Goshen  while  we  dwell. 
Then  shall  a  stronghold  of  thy  praise 
Be  stablish'd,  without  end  of  days, 
In  Goshen  when  thy  children  raise 

The  tents  of  Israel. 


[124] 


The  Athenian's  Vision 


)     pe\paoa  TTJV  ep]v  cppeva, 
etvai  ^18  TCOV  ocov  a|iov 


The  Athenian's  Vision 

What     land?— What     sky?— What     people?— 

What  thronging  faces  seem 
To  float  before  these  waking  eyes,  still  laden 

with  their  dream? 
Whither,  0  whither  have  my  thoughts,  by  dim 

remembrance  bound, 
Been  wafted  from  that  slumber  on  Demeter's 

holy  ground? — 

For  I,  amid  the  mystic  rout, — it  seems  but  yes 
terday, — 

Forth  through  the  Dipylon  at  eve,  along  the 
Sacred  Way, 

From  Athens  moved :  full  voices  round  me  wove 
a  solemn  spell, 

While  on  the  olive  groves  each  gleam  of  torch 
light  weirdly  fell. 

And  in  Demeter's  temple,  at  Eleusis,  I  had 
view  'd 

The  symbols  of  her  sorrow  pledging  our  beati 
tude: 

I  had  seen  the  gifts  unspeakable ;  the  sweet  hopes 
I  had  heard, 

Thrilling  his  soul  whose  silent  lips  the  golden 
key  hath  barr'd. 

[127] 


THE  ATHENIAN'S  VISION 

Then,  wandering  forth  alone,  where  deep  below 

the  moonlit  fane 
Shimmer 'd  the  wavelets  that  lap  round  the  still 

Thriasian  Plain, 
Mute  revery  compassing  my  heart,  the  inward 

eye  yet  turn'd 
Back  to  that  mystic  spectacle — the  fruits,  the 

wise  arts  learn 'd 


Prom  the  great  bounteous  Mother,  from  the  lost 
Daughter,  who 

From  death  was  render  'd  up  to  life : — thus  rapt, 
myself  I  threw 

On  earth's  cool  bosom  down,  and  mused. — The 
vague  stars,  one  by  one, 

Darkling,  grew  faint  and  fainter;  the  night- 
wind's  voice  was  gone; 


I  slept. — Anon  a  vision, — 0 !  listen  to  the  tale, — 

Rending  the  sombre  shroud  of  sleep,  beam  'd  out, 
upon  the  pale 

Curtains  of  dreamland  pictured,  and,  in  accents 
echoing  still, 

Utter 'd  the  grave  monitions  which  my  awe 
struck  spirit  fill. 


[128] 


THE  ATHENIAN'S  VISION 

Methought,  in  presence  manifest  the  Earth- 
Mother  divine 

Stood  by  my  couch  with  gracious  mien  and  coun 
tenance  benign. 

A  myrtle  crown  she  wore ;  one  arm  on  a  wheat  - 
sheaf  did  rest, 

Pull-ear 'd;  the  right  hand  pointed  far  toward 
sunset  and  the  west. 


A  voice  as  when  soft  harvest-airs  o'er  rippling 
corn-lands  blow — 

"My  true  initiate,"  it  said,  "scion  of  Athens, 
know 

"There  are  twin  brothers,  Sleep  and  Death: 
mine  eyes  alone  may  see 

"What  their  similitude  portends  to  frail  hu 
manity. 


"Thy  city,  famed  and  beautiful,  thou  shalt  be 
hold  no  more ; 

"Through  four  and  twenty  centuries  this  slum 
ber  shall  endure, 

"Till  on  a  new,  Hesperian  shore  thy  wondering 
lids  unseal 'd 

"Swim  with  the  radiance  azure  skies  to  lands 
yet  nameless  yield. 


[129] 


THE  ATHENIAN'S  VISION 

"A  people,  to  whom  the  gifts  of  earth  in  ampler 
store  shall  fall 

"Than  fell  in  that  far  Golden  Age  the  minstrel 
would  recall. 

"Nor  oil  nor  wine  pour'd  I  of  old  so  plentiful 
and  sweet 

1  *  As  shall  for  the  fair  clime  be  pour  'd  thy  wak 
ing  eyes  will  greet. 


' '  Twixt  serried  hills  and  the  blue  waves  a  riband 
of  rich  green, 

"  Border  'd  with  fruited  gold;  afar,  the  snow- 
lined  summits'  sheen 

"Gleams  out,  as  from  a  spirit  land;  river  with 
forest  blends, 

"Where  Ocean  with  his  cooling  breath  Elysian 
tribute  sends. 


"For  them,  those  hallow 'd  implements,  Deme- 
ter's  gift  to  man, 

1 '  Simple  erstwhile  and  plain,  the  rake,  the  plow, 
the  winnowing-fan, 

"Sickle  and  pruning-hook, — the  same,  at  my  be 
hest,  shall  change 

"Into  new  things  of  mighty  mould  and  figura 
tion  strange. 


[130] 


THE  ATHENIAN'S  VISION 

"So,  when  their  teeming  products,  the  gates 
o'erflowing,  speed 

"Far  forth,  by  land  or  watery  way,  ten-million 
mouths  to  feed; 

"When  their  white  flocks,  their  kine  adown  ten- 
thousand  pastures  graze, 

"My  name  let  them  remember  yet,  let  them 
cease  not  to  raise 


"Songs    of   thanksgiving    unto   me,    Demeter, 

mother  of  arts, 
"Parent  of  peace  through  all  the  years,  whose 

bounty  bends  men's  hearts, 
' '  By  the  upsp ringing  of  the  seed,  its  leafage,  and 

its  bloom, 
"Toward  thoughts  eternal  and  high  hopes  of  a 

new  life  to  come." 


[131] 


THE  ATHENIAN'S  VISION 

Hail,  then ;  all  hail !  ye  people,  whom  now  mine 

eyes  behold, 

Even  as  mighty  Pallas '  civic  host  they  saw  of  old 

In   Dionysus'   theatre,  high-seated — hail!    and 

wait 

For  that  the   goddess  ushers  in,  through  her 

initiate. 


Lo!  where  the  sacrificial  throng  with  solemn 
step  moves  on, 

Born  of  the  marble  forms  that  graced  the  sculp 
tured  Parthenon. 

Link  ye  a  past  age  to  your  own,  join  ye  in  one 
refrain 

Athena's  green-gray  olive  and  Demeter's  yellow 
grain. 


[132] 


Greeting 


Xecog, 
fjjievoi  Ai6s, 


6i)q?QOvoi5vTeg  ev 
5'  VJIQ 
ai  jcatr|p. 


Greeting 

HIGH-THRONED,     expectant,     gracious 
throng, 

Rejoice!  be  glad  whilst  ye  behold 
What  to  your  thoughts  we  would  unfold 
And  teach  through  solemn  scene  and  song: 
Sweet  Mercy  bidding  vengeance  cease ; 
Mad  flight  and  horror  crown 'd  with  peace. — 

0  prayerful  fugitive,  faint  not ! 

A  mother's  life-blood  stains  that  sword: 
But  with  thy  hand  the  Heavenly  Word 
Guided  its  edge ;  and  through  thee  wrought, 
Thus  to  thy  sire's  requital  bound, 
A  vengeance  awful  and  profound. 

Faint  not!   Somewhere,  solution  true 

The  deep  ensanguined  problem  waits: 
No  flout  of  harsh  unpitying  fates ; 
Though  the  insatiate  hell-born  crew, 
Waked  by  the  phantom-mother  pale, 
Even  to  Parnassus  scent  thy  trail. 

Illustrious  Athens!     How  that  name 
Doth  on  my  listening  spirit  fall 
Like  a  celestial  trumpet-call 

Sounding  no  transient  earthly  fame. 

For  what,  that  men  to  learning  owe 

Or  speed  or  skill  or  wealth  can  show, 
[135] 


GREETING 

Shall  with  such  benison  compare 

As  in  thy  accents,  Pallas,  flow'd 
When  their  rich  harmony  bestow 'd 

On  way-worn  Oedipus  a  share 

Of  hallow 'd  soil  to  be  his  grave, 

And  freedom  to  Orestes  gave. 

Hark!  't  is  a  gentler,  holier  tone 
Than  even-handed  justice  dares 
To  breathe  where  seated  wisdom  wears 

Pure-human  symbols  flung  alone: 

' '  This  vote  my  hand  shall  cast  for  thee ; 

"So  the  tied  ballot  still  sets  free. 


"Nor  shall  the  sable-shrouded  band 

"Pass  unappeased;  but,  minded  well, 
"Near  my  august  tribunal  dwell, 
"True-vengeful  warders  of  the  land: 
"From  wrath  and  ravin  to  refrain 
"And  conjure  blessing  out  of  bane." — 

Kejoice !    and  on  your  inmost  hearts 

Be  the  immortal  story  writ. 
For  whoso  hath  been  call'd  to  sit 
Where  Pallas  of  her  charm  imparts, 
And  under  its  wing'd  shelter  sleeps, 
The  Father  of  all  mercies  keeps. 

[136] 


Symposium  Metricum 


'Ev  [A1JQTOD   >daSl  TO   ^ICpOS  CpOQYjOCO, 

eoojteo  'Ap^Siog  xal  'AQiatoyeiTcov, 

OT8  TOY  TIJQaVVOV  XtaV8TT]V 

laovo^ioug  T'  'A'&Tivag  ejtotT]aaTT]v. 


Symposium  Metricum 

E1,   the  lot   and  number  mark 
Me  to  be  symposiarch. 
Of  this  banquet  I   am  lord ; 
Hear  me  and  obey  my  word. 

Hear  me,  ye  whose  eye-light  glows 
Under  wreaths  of  bay  and  rose; 
Lips  that  curl  at  sound  of  mine, 
Moisten 'd  by  the  god-sent  vine. 

Clearest,  sweetest  chants  the  muse 
When  the  arm  of  Bacchus  wooes, 
With  ambrosial  fingers  prest 
To  a  yet  diviner  breast. 

Then  the  trembling  passions  start 
From  the  barriers   of  the  heart; 
Then  the  thought  leaps  to  the  tongue, 
And  the  hope  dies  not  unsung. 

Genius  then  flings  out  a  beam 
From  his  bright,  ecstatic  dream; 
He  whom  fates  have  burthen 'd  low 
Drops  one  fragment  of  his  woe. 

[139] 


SYMPOSIUM  METRICUM 

So  be  this  Euterpe's  hour. 

Own  ye,  friend  to  friend,  her  power; 

Till  I  last  take  up  the  strain, 

And  we  crown  our  cups  again. 

Stiller!  stiller — palm  to  brow, 
As  I  let  the  myrtle-bough 
Cross  from  hand  to  hand  along, 
And  from  voice  to  voice  the  song. 


[140] 


SYMPOSIUM  METRICUM 


WITH  the  bough  methought  a  spark 
Thrill'd  me,  0  symposiarch, 
Of  the  soul  that  flashes  yet 
In  the  measures  thou  hast  set. 

Well  the  god  deserves  of  youth, 
If  he   drives  the  blade   of  truth 
Through  the  sordid  chains  that  bind 
Or  the  body  or  the  mind. 

Freedom  be  to  me  the  breath 
Of  the  life  I  owe  to  death. 
Freedom,  won  with  groan  and  cheer 
In  the  tempest  of  the  spear. 

Freedom's  pledge  of  equal  aims, 
Equal  hopes,   and  equal  names. 
Freedom's  deep   and  deathless  tone, 
Echoing  round  each  despot's  throne. 

Freedom,  mixt  with  every  thought 
Art  or  phantasy  has  wrought 
Into  shapes  which  gave  to  see 
Signs  of  greater  shapes  to  be. 

[141] 


SYMPOSIUM   METRICUM 

Freedom,  marching  in  the  van 
Of  the  proud  advance  of  man, 
All  that  peace  and  wisdom  yield 
Mirror 'd  in  her  burnish 'd  shield. — 

Claims  a  free  hand  thus  the  right, 
Leafy  symbol  of  delight, 
Thee  thy  tuneful  way  to  send 
At  the  hilted  weapon's  end. 


[142] 


SYMPOSIUM   METRICUM 


IS  there  aught  in  glittering  steel 
Moves  an  awe-struck  heart  to  feel 
What  the  heights,  the  depths  attain 'd 
By  the  will  of  man  unchain 'd? 

His  all-reaching  ken  profound 
Air  nor  sea  avails  to  bound; 
Cave  nor  wilderness,  to  rest 
Trackless  of  his  cunning  quest. 

From  the  wave  he  lifts  the  pearl, 
O'er  whose  hinged  casket  whirl 
Whelming  eddies,  through  the  dim 
Grottoes  of  the  trident-king. 

Wide  on  billowy  paths  and  far 
Flies  for  him  the  sail- wing 'd  car; 
Points  him  many  a  nameless  strand, 
Sunset-realms  of  wonder-land. 

Earth  her  buried  treasure-room 
Opes  to  him,  and,  from  the  gloom 
Of  its  niches  dank  and  cold, 
Beams  the  tempting  blush  of  gold. 

[143] 


SYMPOSIUM  METRICUM 

In  her  vaults  of  marble-vein 
Delves  his  hand,  to  rear  the  fane — 
Saffron  gleams  of  Eos  lave 
Peristyle  and  architrave! 

Now  to  evil,  now  to  good 
Tends  the  soul,  with  fitful  mood: 
Here,  to  dust  low-fluttering — there, 
To  fair  ether  soaring   fair. 


[144] 


SYMPOSIUM  METRICUM 


HAPPY  they,  whose  acts  fulfil 
Not  some  earthly  mistress'  will 
Who  but  Wisdom's  bidding  hear, 
Her  immortal  anger  fear. 

Them  no  longer,  passion-rack 'd, 
Fickle-witted  whims  distract: 
Wisdom's  nomes  harmonious  all 
From  her  silver  plectrum  fall. 

Me  the  piny  wreath  lures  not, 
Over  Isthmian  courses  sought; 
Not  the  loud  Olympian  meed, 
Earn'd  by  fiery-footed  steed. 

Not  the  wrestler's  firm  renown 
Sways  my  fealty  to  a  crown 
Wrung  from  pleasure,  pride,  and  pelf 
In  the  struggle  of  myself. 

Stand  not  I  to    argue  it 
Where  the  gaping  many  sit: 
Not  with  smooth,  obsequious  plea 
Wise  to  seem,  but  wise  to  be. 

[145] 


SYMPOSIUM  METRICUM 

What  the  vain  mob  vaunts  to  know, 
Wisdom  proves,  with  question  slow. 
While  the  glib-tongued  rhetor  prates, 
Wisdom  ponders,   wisdom  waits. 

While  their  factions  rub  and  fret, 
While  their  empires  rise  and  set, 
Wisdom  fares  her  patient  way 
With   the  torch  that  shines  for  aye. 


[146] 


SYMPOSIUM   METEICUM 


BEST   beyond   a   holier   sphere 
Loves  my  charmed  eye  to  peer 
Of  the  flight  from  age  to  age: 
Rose  the  minstrel  ere  the  sage. 

Rose    with   sounding   harp    of   praise, 
Strung  to  themes  of  ancient  days, 
Deeds  heroic  to  rehearse, 
RolFd  in  torrent-mocking  verse. 

Rose  with  lute,  and  faltering  line 
Of  a  threnody  divine, 
When  new  anguish,  welling  fast, 
Dimm'd  his  vision  of  the  past. 

Rose  with  staid,  majestic  mien 
On  the  throng-beholden  scene, 
There  to  teach  what  issues  bide 
Blood-besprinkled  ways  of  pride. 

All  that  drips  from  calm  or  care 
Poesy  in  chalice  rare 
Pours,  and  blends  the  world  of  light 
With  the  mystic  world  of  night. 

[147] 


SYMPOSIUM  METEICUM 

Many  a  tranquil  chord  has  rung 
Through  the  Dirge  of  Ilium; 
Many  a  paean,  strong  to  save, 
Echoed  from  Cocytus'  wave. 


When  Death  consecrates  his  own, 
Poesy,  with  votive  stone, 
Still  her  gentle  tribute  brings, 
Still   the    muse   of  memory   sings. 


[148] 


SYMPOSIUM  METRICUM 


COMES  to  me  the  myrtle?    Now 
Softly  be  enshrined  the  bough: 
Now  Love's  hymn  let  me  attune, 
Whom  Love's  emblem  brings  the  boon. 

Sweet  may  ring  your  gleeful  rhyme, 
High  the  chant  of  freedom  chime, 
But  the  songs  that  pierce  the  graves 
Are  the  songs  of  Eros'  slaves. 

In  their  words  a  crisping  flame, 
In  their  tones  a  winsome  shame, 
In  their  cadences  a  sigh 
As  of  leaves  whose  fall  is  nigh. 

Dire,  invincible  the  works 
Of  the  potent  god  who  lurks 
By  rude  fold,  or  gilded  hall, 
On  his  hapless  prey  to  fall; 

Sudden- vengeful  ire  who  wreaks 
From  his  lair  of  virgin  cheeks, 
Haunts  the  curve  of  comely  limbs, 
'Neath  the  misty  eyelid  swims. 


[149] 


SYMPOSIUM  METRICUM 

Swift,  his  supplicants  to  spurn 
Whilst  at  altar's  marge  they  burn 
Incense  of  regretful  years, 
With  a  litany  of  tears. 

Eros'  branch  has  done  the  round: 
gee! — to  Eros'  statue  bound, 
Droops  its  green — the  while  we  hark 
To  thy  lay,  symposiarch. 


[150] 


SYMPOSIUM  METEICUM 


HELLAS,  Hellas,  lo!  I  bring 
Thee  the  lay  I  rise  to  sing. 
Gods  and  heroes,  lend  my  voice 
Numbers  worthy  of  the  choice. 

Hellas,  first  in  name  of  thee 
Brave  men  swore  they  would  be  free. 
First,  then,  in  thy  cup  be  pour'd 
Crimson  glories  of  the  sword. 

In  thy  praise  resounded  high 
Music,  born  of  sea  and  sky : 
Wreathe  I,  so,  this  rim  along 
Flowers  of  never-dying  song. 

Of  the  nations,  Hellas,  thine 
Beauty  chose,  to  hold  her  shrine : 
Here  in  ruby  waves  I  trace 
Memories  of  the  fcvirest  face. 

Pledge  me  now  the  triple-crown 'd, 
If  of  love  ye  know  the  sound; 
If  the  trumpet,  if  the  lyre 
Sets  the  heart  of  youth  on  fire. 

[151] 


SYMPOSIUM  METRICUM 

Drink  to  Hellas,  as  she  stands; 
Hellas,  Hellas,  land  of  lands: 
Drink  to  art  and  eloquence, 
All  that  speaks  to  mind  or  sense ; 

Drink  to  words  of  law  and  right, 
Drink  to  liberty  and  light, 
Drink  to  beauty,  drink  to  fame, 
Drink  to  an  immortal  name. 


THE  END 


[152] 


Flass,    I 

h 

Hyletharij 

Poems 
UCiUO 

and  other 

x  —  ^ 

\ 

^^__           •       ^ 

^^ 

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